Lifeline
by Milareppa
Summary: It's three months after Platonius and there are questions about that day that Spock and Christine are still refusing to answer. Then the Enterprise gets into trouble and, suddenly, those questions become inescapable.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1.**

_"Captain's Log, Stardate 5956.8. Shore leave at Starbase 7 has been cancelled under new directives to travel to Beta Koris 2, a dilithium mining colony at the frontiers of Federation territory. After three months of physically - and emotionally - gruelling missions, the crew could have used a much longer rest than they were allowed. However, this sector has the good fortune to have experienced peaceful trade for the past seven years. It may not be the kind of rest the doctor ordered but a routine pick-up should not be of undue concern. And ... some members of my crew appear to be looking forward to this mission more than they were anticipating shore leave. End log."_

Captain Kirk nodded to Yeoman Rand who departed the Bridge with a smile. He then turned to ruefully eye the man standing next to his chair.

"Aye," Lieutenant Commander Scott grinned enthusiastically at the gentle dig the Captain had slipped into his log. He was bouncing gently on his toes as he spoke and Kirk shook his head in half-hearted despair. "The purity of Koris 2 dilithium is something else, Captain. You see, the crystals have a near-perfect alignment that allows for maximum yield. I can tell you, sir, it'll make a difference to the warp core, and that's for sure. Why, even the amount of trilithium resin left over from the decrystalisation is minimal. The engines will be purring, Captain. You will never want the regular crystals again!"

Kirk laughed at the Chief Engineer's excitement. "Well, Mr Scott," he managed at last. "If they mean that much to you, the least I can do is give you the Bridge!" he winked at the delighted Scotsman and strolled away into the turbolift, watching the Second Officer settle comfortably into the command chair even as the doors isolated him from the hubbub of activity. His smile remained relaxed and cheerful until he reached the privacy of his quarters, whereupon he slumped down next to his computer with a sigh.

_Well,_ he thought glumly, remembering the passionate joy on Scott's face. _At least some of us are happy._

Wearily, he flicked a computer switch and stretched back into his chair.

_"Personal log, James T. Kirk. Three months since Platonius and I still don't know what to say. We've had so little time to think about it. What happened there, the consequences. For myself, I think I've been lucky. I've always known there's a beautiful and charming woman behind my efficient communications officer and she has, more than once, joked with me about the _Enterprise_'s dashing and handsome captain,"_ his attempt to smile at his joke failed as his voice wavered slightly. "Computer, pause log entry," he ordered.

Rising, he moved over to the fresh water jug that lay on a table near his bed and hovered there, unsure of whether or not to pour a glass, or even whether he was thirsty at all. Furious with his indecision, he thumped the wall next to his bed once and turned back to his desk. "Computer, resume log entry!" he demanded, his voice rough with irritation.

"Log entry resumed," the computer replied placidly.

He didn't sit back down and instead found himself pacing as he fought to find the words to express what he was feeling, fought to _understand_ what he was feeling.

"_We're friends. We work well together. That the Platonians chose her was of no surprise to me. That they chose her image - the methods of tort-- _intimidation _they would force me to use against her - was of no surprise to _her_. Based on his talks with Alexander, Bones speculated that the choice of women had to come from the minds of their captives - they had great power yet their strengths were not limitless. But once the women had been brought to them, the most effective torture would be that which affected the women most. It was the best way to get a rise out of us. To make us break, they had to break Uhura and Chapel first. And that ... that had to come from _their _minds not mine - or Spock's,"_ he stopped at the mention of his first officer's name. "Dammit! Computer, pause log!"

This time when he stopped beside the water jug, he curtly poured some water. It tinkled into the clean glass, shining like a crystal jewel in the muted lighting of his quarters - a shard of ethereal beauty in a world dulled by the pain of helplessness that had become his unwelcome shadow. He strode back over to his desk, and this time forced himself to sit down.

Spock.

What on earth could he say about Spock?

He sighed. "Computer, resume log."

"Log entry resumed," the computer repeated in the same bland tone and Kirk had to admit the lack of emotion in the mechanical voice was beginning to annoy him.

"_Uhura and I have an understanding. There's something there, I think there always has been. It's not something that'll grow into anything. It's a little bit of teasing, a bit of flirting - a bit of fun. Maybe the Platonians misinterpreted it as something more than it is. Maybe the Platonians didn't need any more than what they found. I don't know. I just know that ... that ... I'm fine. Uhura's fine. We were stronger than they were. It worked out for us in the end."_

He stopped, thinking about what he had just said, resisting the urge to run the log back, to delete it all and forget he had said any of it. But he couldn't - his memories were not so easy to wipe away, he had to say what was on his mind. Even if no one else ever heard his thoughts. Even if it grew old and stale, locked on a tape that gathered dust in a forgotten drawer. He _needed_ to get it off his chest.

"_Not all of us have been so lucky."_

He stopped again. There was so much he could say, so much he should say.

"_It's been three months ... and I still don't know what to do about that."_

He was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "Computer, end log."

There was so much he didn't know how to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Nurse Chapel stared pensively into her bedroom mirror. She had been due for dinner in the Mess at least ten minutes ago but had found herself rooted to the spot, staring at the reflection that, no matter how hard she analysed it, refused to make sense.

She looked perfectly ordinary. No make-up, pale blue eyes, boring brown hair. _It really shouldn't be happening this way,_ she thought to herself morosely, tugging a few disobedient strands of hair back into their proper places.

In her youth, Chapel hadn't been hugely enthusiastic about the fact she had been born a brunette. To her way of thinking, it was the blondes who always had more fun, who received the most attention, who looked the most attractive. There seemed to be so many more glamorous options with blonde hair. Not like her thick mass of boring brown locks that seemed to leech all the light from out of a room instead of dazzling the eyes of appreciative onlookers.

She'd experimented with various shades of blonde over the years, everything from the palest silvered platinum to the darkest honey tones. In the end, she had settled for a sunny golden shade that seemed to bring out the best in her eyes and made men sit up and take notice.

Looking back at those days with the hindsight that came from age and experience, she suspected now that it had not really been the blonde hair that had attracted men, it had been her confidence. Changing the colour had made her more outgoing, more self-assured in social situations. She could have found those qualities within herself as a brunette but at the time she had been young, naive and shy.

_And what are you now, Christine?_ she asked herself silently, watching the blue eyes flash mockingly from the mirror, as she contemplated the past three months.

They had been forcibly dressed in ridiculous garb while confined on Platonius but it had not been until they had returned to the _Enterprise_ that she'd had the chance to really see the changes the Platonians had wrought on her physical appearance.

The painted Vulcan face that had stared at her from this very mirror still had the power to make her sleep restive.

Her initial confusion at being summoned to Platonius had been washed away in a sea of fear, pain and rage as humiliation after humiliation had unfolded without end. She had worked out very quickly that they were there because Captain Kirk and Commander Spock had not been co-operating with Parmen's demands. It had been too cruel of them to use her love for the Vulcan in an attempt to break through his defences, to see if he would beg for it all to end.

It had made sense to her at the time. The Platonians had quickly learned so much about them that they must have realised that Spock was a touch telepath. In such close physical proximity with one who loved him so completely, he would have been overwhelmed by her emotions, unable to block against them, forced to experience them in every minute detail, forced even to act upon them. It had been a double-edged assault on the Vulcan - a breach of privacy his cultural upbringing would have abhorred as well as an uncontrolled torrent of emotion that his intensive schooling had disciplined him to resist at all costs.

In one fell blow, the Platonians had uncovered a weapon that would attack him on every level at once - physically, mentally, emotionally and even telepathically.

She wouldn't blame the Vulcan if he never wanted to be near her ever again.

Once the shock of her visual appearance had worn off, she had scrubbed and scoured herself back into the Human race - physically, if not emotionally. Then she had tried to understand why exactly the Platonians had felt the need to make her look Vulcan at all. At first, she had thought that it must have been to emphasise to Spock just how Vulcan she _wasn't_. After all, what greater psychological impact could they have than to place in his arms something that looked Vulcan but which did not behave Vulcan?

Then, at the most painful and awkward briefing she had ever had the misfortune to attend, Doctor McCoy had admitted he had been asking Alexander some of these very questions.

According to Alexander, the fact she had been chosen had been because of things the Platonians had dug up in Spock's mind. The fact she had appeared as a Vulcan woman had been her fault, not Spock's.

She shivered at the memory of that revelation. The way that the First Officer's dark eyes had, for the first time in the entire briefing, snapped up from a careful study of his gracefully steepled fingers, to burn her with an intense, unwavering stare. Even now, she couldn't fathom what the expression had meant. She guessed part of it was that, until then, Spock had suspected her appearance had also come from his mind. That fact meant that her suspicion about him had always been true - a Human woman had no place in his life. He was waiting for the day when it would be appropriate for him to take a Vulcan wife.

Aside from that single realisation, she hadn't found any way to explain the look in his eyes and she had resigned herself to accepting that she never would know what he had been thinking at that moment. Unless she asked him.

She had absolutely no intention of asking him.

Once she had returned to her quarters from the briefing room, she had dived into the shower again, the second time in as many hours, and scrubbed her skin until it glowed red from the friction. She couldn't quite reach her soul to cleanse that but at least the pinkish bruising proved her blood was not, and never would be, green.

She had found a measure of comfort in that.

But in light of the epiphany she'd had in the briefing, she'd also found herself thinking of something that had occurred during the first year of the mission. Another embarrassing emotional roller coaster but this time a terrible scientific accident that had driven all sense of responsibility and propriety out of the minds of the entire crew.

Omicron Ceti III and those accursed spores.

She had also found herself thinking of that occasion, just a short few months later, when Spock's prodigious mental disciplines had been ravaged by a biological imperative that had almost cost Captain Kirk his life - would have, in fact, if not for Doctor McCoy's quick thinking and mistrustful preparations.

After analysing the two events in her mind for a while, the nurse had come to an obvious conclusion. What Spock wanted and needed were two entirely different things. Want had driven him into the arms of a pretty blonde Human and made him reject the beautiful Vulcan brunette. Need, however, dictated a Vulcan wife was something he was destined to end up with, no matter how fiercely he was currently resisting the fact.

Of course, it made a certain logical sense that he'd be drawn to blondes, she had speculated. It was such a rare colour on Vulcan, and men of many species were often drawn to the exotic. Devotion to a logical philosophy aside, there was no reason to think that Vulcans were immune to that male trend.

Parmen must have realised that. In Spock's mind, he had found a weakness for blondes, found the memories of her fevered declaration of love towards the beginning of the five-year mission, and found, in her, the perfect combination of passion and colouring to... what? Mock him? Mock his memories of Leila? Mock his dedication to his Vulcan heritage?

Chapel suspected the answer to all of these questions was an affirmative and her own long-held suspicions that his ultimate rejection of Leila Kalomi had been proof of his commitment to Vulcan marital demands had just been the icing on the cake. Through her, Parmen had revealed, ever so publicly, what Spock's perfect woman really was.

A blonde Vulcan.

The nurse hadn't been able change her hair's colour back to brown fast enough. Anything to ensure she stayed out of Spock's mind, out of his thoughts.

Out of his life.

That was something she had determined quickly. Although she had known, and accepted, that she would never be a part of his personal life, she had been a close professional colleague. They had developed a good working relationship over the years and, with the exception of a few key events, there had been nothing to disturb the status quo. Yes, her feelings may have bubbled over into his conscious thoughts during inevitable physical encounters when he had been a patient in Sickbay but even that had not been the fault of either of them. Touch telepathy wasn't that easy an issue to side-step and even Vulcans could not deny emotions _existed_ - even if they were trying very hard to do exactly that.

He had never derided her emotions, she had never used them against him and, despite the odds stacked against it, they had come to make a very good research team. One of the _Enterprise_'s best, if not _the_ best.

Chapel was under absolutely no illusion as to her scientific talent. The one thing she had never lacked was confidence in her professional abilities. Certainly, her unofficial psychological evaluation of Spock had proven accurate - she had received ample evidence of that since Platonius.

It had not been her intention to overhear the conversations between McCoy and Kirk in the CMO's office but when assigned to help M'Benga with emergency equipment recalibration before a young ensign went into major surgery, both she and the ACMO had been unable to avoid detecting the hushed voices. The worries about Spock's behaviour since Platonius - the uncharacteristic attitude on Stratos and again on the recently departed planet, Sarpeidon. So, quite by accident, she had heard about Droxine and Zarabeth.

In the quiet of the labs outside McCoy's office, she had met M'Benga's gentle gaze. "That man really needs to learn to shut his damn door," the xenological expert had grumbled; both his offer of support for what he knew she would feel at that news and genuine irritation at McCoy's professional lapse.

"Yes, Doctor," had been her calm response, and she had returned to completing her duties without another word.

Leila - blonde; Droxine - blonde; Zarabeth - blonde. The rejected Vulcan wife - brunette.

_Quod erat demonstrandum._

The decision to return to her natural brunette shade had been correct. Spock would forget she had ever existed, and no one would ever be able to use them in this fashion ever again.

_If someone's going to abuse our memories, Christine, a mere change of hair colour won't stop them. You're being illogical._

She was also starting to sound like a Vulcan. Any minute now, she was certain points would begin sprouting out of her ears.

_This is ridiculous. Platonius was three months ago. Get over it._

Part of her mind refused to obey.

The trouble was, she now had a new problem, one she didn't know how to handle. She had made her appearance as drab as possible since Platonius, a concerted effort to fade into the background and pretend she had never worn all that make-up, had never been put on display in a way that was too much even for her little inner glamour-model. Had never had to play the part of a Vulcan's secret fantasy.

The plan had been to become as inconspicuous as possible but the plan did not seem to be working. Since she had dyed her hair brown, she had been inundated by three offers for dinner, two dates to the arboretum, one for the observation deck and a request to spend an evening watching old holovids.

She'd received more requests for dates in the past three months than she'd received in the past three years.

Admittedly, during the first year, she had been officially engaged, then officially grieving. In the second year, her reputation had suffered for a while due to her violent confrontation with Spock in an embarrassingly busy corridor outside his quarters. Fortunately, that time had seen him behave aggressively and unreasonably towards a number of the crew so her reputation had recovered. Still, given that misunderstanding and their close working relationship in Life Sciences, for the rest of the year there had been just enough speculation surrounding her relationship with the First Officer to keep most of the men on the ship at a cautious distance.

Apparently, the gossip network had finally decided she was on the market after all.

Why?

Because she had suddenly dyed her hair?

What cosmic joke was this that the very time she wanted to avoid male attention she couldn't fight it off?

It _really_ shouldn't have been happening this way.

Chapel looked at the chronometer and patted her hair back into place. She was twenty minutes late - Uhura and Rand were going to skin her alive. With a deep sigh, she left her quarters and began the journey to the Mess.

Dinner with friends, she didn't mind. She just hoped she wouldn't receive any more dinner invitations while she was there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

McCoy was sitting alone in an isolated corner when Kirk arrived at the Mess. The Captain studied him thoughtfully as he waited for the food slot to handle his order. The doctor wasn't eating his food, but was instead stirring his coffee with slow, absent strokes. His mind clearly wasn't on the task, his eyes staring fixedly at the empty chair on the opposite side of the table to him. However, Kirk doubted that the CMO was really paying any attention to it.

He smiled brightly at Uhura and Rand as he passed their table, receiving answering smiles from both women, then dropped his tray to the table with a clatter. He watched as McCoy almost jumped out of his skin in shock.

"Oh, it's you," the doctor grouched, barely looking up as his old friend sat down.

"Nice to see you too, Bones," Kirk replied pleasantly. "What's up?"

"I screwed up, Jim."

The Captain gazed at him. "Happens to the best of us, Bones," he said gently. "What did you do?"

"That conversation we had a few days ago about Droxine and Zarabeth?" McCoy threw his captain a hooded stare and how hollow those blue eyes looked surprised Kirk. He nodded mutely and the doctor continued, his voice containing a strange sort of fascinated horror at what he was saying, what he was confessing to. "Door was open, Jim. Chris heard everything."

Kirk blinked at that, then leaned forward to peer at him intently. "How do you know?"

"M'Benga," McCoy grunted. "He was out there with her. Heard everything himself. Chewed me out for it too - not that I can blame him. Damned unprofessional of me, Jim." He rubbed his hands over his weary face. "Damned unprofessional."

Kirk thought about that for a moment. "It's as much my fault, Bones," he pointed out reasonably. "We were both in that room, we could have both noticed the door. As captain, I have to protect confidentiality too."

"Shall I have M'Benga pay you a visit too?" McCoy demanded crabbily. "Quit raining on my parade, will you?"

"Oh," the Captain leaned back in his seat, the first hint of a smile touching his lips. "Didn't realise there was a monopoly on self-recrimination, Bones. Simple solution, don't do it again - but you go right ahead and wallow. I'm going to eat my dinner," he eyed McCoy's untouched plate. "I might eat yours too, come to think of it. I'm hungry enough to eat a horse."

The CMO glared at him, then pulled his plate across and picked up a fork. "Anyway, I think I worked it out - what's bugging Spock, that is."

Kirk looked up from his plate, his food forgotten despite his claims of hunger. "What is it?"

"Well, given all the horsing around you and Spock were forced to do on Platonius, I was figuring he'd go double-Vulcan on us but... " He frowned and speared a potato viciously, as if it was the spud's fault the First Officer hadn't been behaving like himself recently.

"But?" Kirk demanded impatiently when McCoy failed to continue.

"But, Jim, I think it's his _Human_ half that's giving us grief."

Whatever the Captain had been bracing himself for, it clearly hadn't been that. He stared at the doctor in astonishment for several moments before his brain kicked back into gear and he closed his mouth. He turned that announcement over in his mind for a moment and then shook his head slightly. "What are you saying exactly?" he asked eventually.

McCoy shrugged and concentrated on eating for a few moments while Kirk fidgeted impatiently. The doctor seemed to be trying to decide how best to explain himself and it was the only reason Kirk remained quiet. Suddenly he looked up. "Well, put it this way, Jim," he said at last. "Look at Stratos. Caring about physical appearances? Comparing a woman to artwork? Hell, flirting with women at all? Never mind that being out of character for Spock, it's just plain un-Vulcan."

"Well, yes. But, Bones--"

"And then there's Sarpeidon. I know we never experienced all that molecular mangling that stopped the Sarpeidons returning to the future but I'm convinced that damn machine did something to us." McCoy stabbed his fork at the air right in front of Kirk's nose. The Captain eyed it warily then studied the doctor's flushed face. In his own way, McCoy had been as badly shaken by Zarabeth as Spock had been. "It wasn't just Spock who went crazy down there. _I_ wasn't acting normal either. I knew it, and I still couldn't help it. Spock was the same - he saw what he was doing but it also didn't stop him. Now I've had time to think about it, I'm convinced it's not the fact we were in the past that was the problem, it's how we got there."

Kirk didn't speak for a while after McCoy stopped talking. As the doctor returned to stabbing his food, the Captain reflected on what he had been told about the experience. "Bones," he said eventually. "What's all this got to do with Spock's Human half?"

McCoy swallowed his mouthful and sighed. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But... it's like he's dicing with the devil. It's as if he came back from Platonius hating the fact he's a Vulcan and now he's trying to reject it at every opportunity. Oh, he's not acting Human in the way you or I do but... he's dunking his toe in the water, that's for sure."

Kirk's eyebrows lifted. "If that's the case, Bones, I'd have expected you to be delighted. Aren't you the one who's always telling him it's illogical to ignore his Human heritage?"

"Jim, I've never asked him to self-destruct!" McCoy snapped. "And that's what's happening - or going to happen if it keeps up. There's a hell of a difference between acknowledging you're worried, or happy, or sad, and messing with other people's emotions just because you can. And that's what he's doing, Jim. His, mine, other women's, Christine's." he waved his fork angrily at Kirk, as the Captain began to interrupt. "Yes, Jim, Chris _is_ figuring into this bizarre attitude of his somehow. I just can't quite figure out how."

Kirk sighed and finally put his fork down. He wasn't feeling hungry anymore. "I know, Bones, there's something going on there but I can't work it out. Even that incident with the soup last year didn't affect their professional relationship for long but... I'll be honest, I've been thinking of pulling them aside and having a long talk with them about their behaviour. The only thing that's stopped me is... " He trailed off, frowning. Why hadn't he addressed this before now anyway? He didn't tolerate loss of efficiency on his ship, it was unacceptable.

"Is because you'd have to make the reprimand official on their service records and they're both of them normally too damn good at their jobs to deserve that?" McCoy finished softly, understanding.

Kirk shook his head angrily. " If it had been anyone else, I'd have confronted them by now," he muttered. "Now who's being unprofessional?"

"Or you trust your crew to be able to resolve their issues on their own and are willing to give them the time to try?" The CMO seemed to be calming down even as the Captain's agitation began to grow.

"I do, Bones - but are they even trying? So far, they seem to be avoiding each other."

McCoy nodded. "According to M'Benga, Chris didn't even react to the conversation she overheard and he found that a little odd."

"Perhaps her feelings for him weren't as serious as we thought they were?"

The look McCoy shot him was withering. "That's wishful thinking, Jim, and you know it. She's in love with him. Full blown, the real deal. The kind that lasts." He was beginning to poke his food again and Kirk sighed. With the absence of Spock, they were winding each other up instead. "And Parmen pulled her from _his_ mind not hers. He didn't like being told that, Jim. Remember his face when I told him what Alexander had said?"

Kirk was shaking his head. "Honestly, Bones, I'm not sure _what_ that look on his face was all about. I know he wasn't surprised though - that's what interested me. He wasn't surprised that of all the women Parmen _could_ have picked out of his mind, it was Chris he chose."

"Yeah," McCoy muttered. "I noticed _that_ too."

The two were silent for a few minutes, absently toying with their food, neither of them eating a single bite, both of them avoiding the other's gaze. Eventually, Kirk sighed and lifted his head, giving his doctor a firm stare. "One of us has to say it, Bones," he said finally.

"What? That maybe her feelings for him aren't as one-sided as we originally thought?" McCoy snorted. "What good would asking _that_ question do, Jim? Or are you forgetting what it took to get him to admit he had any feelings for Leila?"

Kirk grimaced at the reference to Omicron Ceti III. "I don't know, Bones, was that love?" he spotted the incredulous expression on McCoy's face and gestured for the doctor to hold his peace for a few moments longer. "I'll tell you what I remember about those spores, Bones," he said softly, leaning forward and holding his colleague's blue eyes with an intense stare. "I remember those spores making me feel alive in a way I never had before. I could touch, taste, _feel_ in a way I never thought possible. Everything seemed so much more intense - colours were brighter, emotions ... sharper. I felt at peace with the world but at the same time, I was filled with a need to stay active, to explore that world I felt so at peace with. It wasn't until I broke free of those spores that I had time to think about that paradox."

McCoy was nodding slowly, reluctantly. "An evolutionary trait, I bet. Make the host so eager to experience the pleasures of their environment that they'll travel to get their fix - one heck of a dispersal mechanism."

Kirk nodded ruefully. "So, Leila was in love with Spock for years and she decided - assumed - that he was in love with her. And... maybe he was, Bones. Maybe he still is. But maybe he wasn't. What if he cared deeply for her but it wasn't actually love? Perhaps his only measure of Human love was Leila's interpretation. And when the spores broke down his controls, making him acknowledge he cared for her, the spores - having enhanced and exaggerated his emotions - made him _believe_ he was in love?" he took a deep breath. "Afterwards, even to this day, he remembers the situation as being the first time he was ever truly happy - but I've noticed he's never said it was _Leila_ specifically who made him happy. The experience, yes. The woman? Well, maybe in anyone else, the distinction wouldn't matter, it would mean the same thing. But this is Spock we're talking about. It's an awfully generalised comment for him to make if Leila alone was his source of happiness, don't you think?"

"Alright," McCoy said after a moment of mulling over what Kirk was saying. "I'll agree that maybe there's something in what you say. But I said 'feelings', Jim - not love specifically, and you yourself have just admitted he had to have feelings of some kind for her. Even if we debate whether it was really love or not, there were feelings involved."

Kirk nodded. "Yes there were," he agreed. "But what I'm saying is that in his normal state of mind, he didn't want her, and she clearly couldn't accept him as he was either. That much was obvious after the colonists were freed from the spores. She needed his Human side, his Vulcan side was in the way of that. Even as scientists, they didn't have a professional relationship. It seems to me that in their normal states of mind, they weren't compatible at all - regardless of any feelings involved."

"So?" McCoy interrupted. "What's this got to do with Chris?"

"My point, Bones," Kirk said patiently. "Is that he dismissed Leila and everything she stood for - even scientifically. He'd done so long before Omicron Ceti III and he did so again after the spores. Prior to Platonius, have you ever known him to dismiss Chris? On any level?"

McCoy started to answer then he stopped. His eyes narrowed as he analysed the question, then his mouth clamped shut as he began thinking through their history with the Vulcan - and the Vulcan's history with the nurse. At last his eyes widened as realisation dawned. "Well, I'll be!" he said at last. "Except for that soup incident, which is forgivable, he's been the perfect gentleman around her and they have the best science partnership on this ship ..." he shot Kirk a quick look. "Although you better not be telling Spock I said that!" he added quickly.

The captain chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it, Bones," he promised. "But you do see my point, don't you? Even the soup incident didn't break down their professional rapport for very long."

"Yes, you're right there," McCoy's forehead furrowed in thought, then one of his eyebrows shot up. "Something about Platonius is different to that time. They've proven plenty of times they can move on from ... problems but this time ..."

"... They aren't." Kirk finished. He was frowning as well now. "Bones what was all that business about Parmen dressing her up like a Vulcan?"

The CMO sighed and shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, Jim, and I can't get answers out of her," he pursed his lips. "But that dandy little twist came out of her mind, not Spock's, so I figure she maybe thinks she doesn't stand a chance with Spock because she's not a Vulcan - and given his history, you can't blame her for thinking that."

"Except for the fact that Vulcan women don't stand much chance with him either," Kirk said sourly then, in response to McCoy's raised eyebrow, added. "One word: T'Pring."

McCoy scowled fiercely at the mention of Spock's ex-wife. "Anyway, whatever the reason behind her being dressed up as a Vulcan, I think her appearance then has something to do with Spock's behaviour now."

Kirk nodded thoughtfully at that. "Makes sense," he said slowly.

"As much as any of this makes sense," McCoy growled softly. "Her Vulcan appearance could well explain why he's been in this anti-Vulcan mood ever since Platonius."

"Which is completely illogical, of course," Kirk sighed.

"It's more logical if you're right and he has feelings for her," the doctor mused. "Parmen rammed it down his throat that she feels she can never measure up to his standards. And maybe he feels that too but regrets how high those standards are - at least, where Chris is concerned. And maybe that's exactly what Parmen was exploiting."

They were both silent for another long moment.

"You think we've worked it out?" Kirk asked at last.

McCoy grunted noncommittally. "I think we've got a working theory," he grumbled. "Where Spock's concerned, it's the best we can do without asking him straight up," he paused. "Speaking of our currently-not-very-emotionless Vulcan, where the devil is he anyway? He's late."

Kirk looked amused as he glanced towards the chronometer. "Spock, late? When's that ever going to ha--" he stopped, staring at the time. "You're right, Bones," he said in astonishment. "He _is_ late!"

"First time for everything," the CMO muttered, glancing towards the far doors as they slid open to admit Nurse Chapel. Kirk turned back from the chronometer realising that half the room had fallen silent upon her entry. "Here we go again," McCoy added in an irritable mumble, also noticing.

They had both noticed the changes in the nurse after Platonius and had been able to pin down the most significant change - her hair colour - to the debriefing of the mission after they had escaped the planet. Kirk had been somewhat baffled but McCoy had speculated it was a reaction to his announcement that her appearance had been pulled from her own mind. The nurse's intent behind the change may have been a source of speculation between the two men but the consequences were not.

She had initially dyed her hair quite a dull brown and then let it begin to grow out so that her natural colour would eventually come through. Although the dye was similar in shade to her original colour, there was a natural tint to her hair the dye had not been able to duplicate. It was a reddish glow that made her hair shine with chestnut highlights, setting off her pale creamy skin and making her eyes gleam like polished sapphires. Of course, Kirk had been aware her eyes were blue but it wasn't until she'd returned to her natural brunette that he'd realised just _how _blue they were.

He knew he wasn't the only man on the ship who had noticed - although he was starting to think that he was in the minority of men not acting on it. He was fully aware of the male interest she had attracted in recent weeks. Even if he hadn't been alert to his crew's attitudes and behaviours, he would have known from the frequent rants McCoy had inflicted upon him about his head nurse not being allowed the time to get on with her job due to lovelorn hopefuls lurking around Sickbay pestering her.

While Kirk didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this unexpected development, he had become aware of the fact that Nurse Chapel herself did not seem to be welcoming the advances of her male colleagues. He had no idea whether it was because she was still holding a torch for the First Officer or whether it was something else but he had a heard a few rumours of increasingly aggressive altercations between the nurse and one particularly persistent suitor. There had been no official complaints, and he hadn't seen anything first hand ...

... But judging by the way Lieutenant Rivers was making a beeline towards her, and the steely expression on her face as she spotted him, the captain was sure he would find out for himself the truth of those rumours.

Any minute now, in fact.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

The fires within the small pot were burning low, dying in the dim light of his red-hued room. Spock sat before them, wrapped loosely in his meditation robes, hands folded lightly on his lap, head bowed. He should have completed the _sele-an-t'li_ by now but he had not managed even _tal t'li_ - that most basic of meditative levels. He was sitting in the closed posture of the _ikapirak_, struggling with the _kohl _emotion-purge and only just managing to achieve the serenity required to maintain the _tu-lan_ breathing exercises.

Had he been given to panic, he would have regarded his situation as disastrous. As it was, he merely regarded his circumstances as unacceptable. Instead, he had found himself immobile in front of his firepot, watching the embers throb in the dark red depths, illogically observing that the deep-glowing wood resembled the current hair colour of the _Enterprise_'s Head Nurse. It was interfering with his pursuit of _Venlinahr_.

The past three months had been a strain on his equanimity. Ever since Platonius. His initial meditations on what he had been forced to endure - and inflict - on that planet had, for the most part, been resolvable. His ever-efficient logic had shown him that he had not been to blame for everything that had happened and that he, like his colleagues and captain, had been innocent victims. Those who had played them like marionettes bore the responsibility and it was upon their shoulders that the fault rested. The shame and guilt had been harder to address but again logic had been able to help him accept the reasons for their existence and - if not successfully suppress them - at least control them.

In all, he had concluded the visit to Platonius had been one more mission he had no desire to repeat but upon which he should not unduly dwell. While he had still felt a certain unease about the mission, he had at least been able to approach the debriefing with calm. Once that meeting was concluded, he would have been able to move on and think no more about that stressful experience.

And then Doctor McCoy had dropped his bombshell.

The level of skill the CMO apparently possessed to unbalance Spock's mental and emotional harmonies never ceased to be disturbing, if only for the fact the good doctor often seemed utterly oblivious to the chaos he continually brought to the Vulcan's rational, well-ordered thoughts.

McCoy explaining that the choice of women had come from the minds of the captured men had come as no surprise to Spock. The memories of the pendulous relationship between First Officer and Head Nurse had been excellent fodder for the Platonians to exploit. The emotions she evoked in him that he never admitted away from his private meditations had been a veritable harvest for those bored and cruel minds: frustration, fear, protectiveness, respect, loyalty, affection ... yearning.

Spock had come to terms with their existence long ago, had in fact found himself with no choice but to confront them, given his close working relationship with the nurse. Given, especially, her feelings for him that could not be hidden, despite her often heroic efforts to maintain decorum.

The price of his telepathic heritage that she tried to bear with stoic professionalism - a self-imposed duty to which he was a silent witness. Just thinking about it filled him with quiet wonder.

Unfortunately, the Platonians had understood the disadvantages of touch telepathy all too well.

He watched the embers spark in the pot, fighting for one last gasp of life before they died forever. He was not often given to metaphor but it felt somehow appropriate to what he was currently feeling, what his meditations were currently failing to resolve.

McCoy's bombshell.

It had been so easy to shoulder when he had blamed himself.

But then McCoy had explained that Nurse Chapel's appearance had been based on thoughts within _her_ mind and suddenly Spock had been let off the hook.

He was only culpable for half the problem, not the whole of it.

And, quite illogically, he found that absolutely impossible to resolve.

He didn't blame her for any of it - that was something he had understood quickly. The _only_ thing he had understood, in fact. The trouble was, he wasn't sure what 'any of it' actually meant. What was it that existed in her mind that Parmen could so twist into such a horrible Vulcan mask?

His only logical conclusion had been that, given the demands of his Vulcan upbringing, she considered herself truly unworthy to be a Vulcan's wife. Logically, he could not disagree. At least, in the sense that many Vulcans would not contemplate taking a non-Vulcan wife, that was. But many Vulcans did not truly care. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, the teachings of Surak that all true children of Vulcan practised. Logically speaking, the species of a Vulcan's mate-choice was absolutely irrelevant. The ability to respect and honour a culture was much more important.

Logically speaking.

Not all Vulcans were truly logical, however. Witness his upbringing - teased and mocked by full-blooded Vulcan boys for his half-Human heritage, something his Human colleagues and Human mother could empathise with because such behaviour could only be explained through emotion, not logic: hate, fear, even jealousy. His command of Vulcan discipline exceeded the control many full-blooded Vulcans were capable of and that disturbed many, he knew.

Was that because Human emotions were not as fierce as Vulcan emotions and so Spock did not have the depth of emotion a full-blooded Vulcan experienced?

But no - while his first _pon farr_ had been late in its arrival, it had manifested with all the intensity of any full-blooded Vulcan male. The _plak tow_ had burned with the true spirit of Vulcan - the spirit that could turn friends into enemies and which could sever the bond of _t'hai'la_, the unity of blood brothers. That which had pitted him in physical challenge against Captain Kirk, and tested the wit of Doctor McCoy against the rigidity of Vulcan society. That which had proven a Human's respect for life to be stronger than that of people which claimed descent from one of the Alpha Quadrant's greatest, and most successful, pacifists yet still insisted on resolving the _plak tow_ through challenges to the death.

His emotions were as powerful as any full-blooded Vulcan. Evidence had been provided when proof had been demanded. The half-breed had obeyed Vulcan tradition, even in the _plak tow_ had behaved as a true Vulcan. The full-blood had been the one to break tradition, to attempt to hide emotional motivation behind logical reasoning.

He had been tested and found worthy.

Or was it because, as a half-Vulcan, Spock had been determined to prove he could do everything a full-blooded Vulcan could do and went on to achieve that with more success than even he had expected?

This, he was forced to concede, was entirely possible. He had, after all, melded with those who could not be melded with; he had influenced the minds of those he had not been in physical contact with. Across the vastness of space, he had felt a ship of Vulcans die. He had mastered all the _Venlinahr_ disciplines Vulcan society demanded and if he did not have the mastery of _Kolinahr_ that was through personal choice - a choice shared by the majority of Vulcans. _Kolinahr_ was not popular - few Vulcans even desired to attempt it, fewer still succeeded.

He sighed and lifted the small rod that was used for stoking the embers and gave them an unenthusiastic poke. Logically then, he could not refute any concerns the nurse might have in measuring up to the standards set by Vulcan society - but it was hardly an impossibility, and she must have been aware of that. She had met his mother, after all.

Perhaps, therefore, it was not a lack of confidence in her ability to measure up to a Vulcan's standards? Perhaps she thought his personal standards were too high?

It had been this last question that had been disturbing his thoughts. If he had not already been conscious of the fact that he tested his command of Vulcan discipline more severely than most full-blooded Vulcans ever did, then Doctor McCoy's constant complaints about it would have surely made him aware. In part, it had been what had driven him into Starfleet in the first place. Many Vulcans did not look upon him as equal to them - or were at least suspicious of his Human blood, as if waiting for an unexpected situation to crack his control and let emotion escape. In Starfleet, there was no respite. The unexpected lurked around every turn, one always had to be prepared and, out here on the frontiers of space, he was proving his command of Vulcan discipline every single day.

And he knew Vulcan was paying attention. He had not set out to change Vulcan's mind about Starfleet, nor even his father's, but he was aware it was happening - and not just because of T'Pring's desire to divorce him to escape that change. Year by year, more Vulcans openly admitted there was logic to Starfleet's existence, that with Vulcan wisdom and guidance, the martial nature of Federation species like Andorians and Humans could be tempered, and Starfleet used to protect and serve.

That Spock had accidentally dug a hole for himself, was a fact that had not been lost on him. He had defied his father to establish a career that would prove to the doubters he could function as a Vulcan even under duress, but to do so required him to consciously adhere to Vulcan principles - even under duress - just to prove his point.

There was a distinct lack of logic at the core of all of this that did not sit well with Spock, compounded by the realisation that, in a sense, Sarek had actually won their long dispute after all. His father had demanded Spock follow his teachings, as he had followed the teachings of his own father and had felt that Spock was betraying that - betraying him - by entering Starfleet. In order to prove his own point, however, that he _was_ a true Vulcan, Spock had therefore, almost subconsciously, subscribed to his father's teachings in order to succeed.

The irony, revealed in all its disturbing glory during the journey to the Babel conference a year ago, had not been lost on Spock. He had a suspicion that Sarek had noticed too, although his father had been polite enough to say nothing about the matter. It had, however, improved their relationship, in the sense that it appeared to be a compromise they could both live with.

It was therefore unquestionable that Spock's standards were very high. Unrealistically so, he now realised and was disturbed by the idea that it was Parmen who was responsible for his insight. Doctor McCoy had always known so it would not surprise him if Nurse Chapel had as well - her ability to understand him had always been rather unsettling. The Vulcan mask, therefore, had to have been proof of the fact she had known this all along.

Unless... unless it had meant something else. His theories could not explain why she had dyed her hair as soon as she had learned that her Vulcan make-up had come from her mind and not from his. The evidence dictated this revelation was the reason for her cosmetic alterations and, if he remembered the ramblings of Doctor McCoy with any accuracy, that suggested possible emotional trauma.

On the other hand, she was a natural brunette, so perhaps she was merely moving away from whatever emotional imbalances had encouraged her to dye her hair in the first place?

_Perhaps it is illogical to speculate on the reasons for a Human female's cosmetic choices?_ He reflected thoughtfully, unsure if the rueful nature of his thoughts was a Vulcan response to the illogic of Humanity or that of a man who didn't understand the female mind.

_Even if it is an improvement_, his traitorous mind added before he wrested himself onto a more logical train of thought.

He had considered analysing her emotions during his physicals in Sickbay to try and understand the reason for Parmen's vision of her, and her reaction to it, but he had not followed through. It was partly because the very fact he had even contemplated breaching her privacy to satisfy his own curiosity had disturbed him. But it was also because her behaviour towards him in Sickbay had changed.

Somehow, she rarely seemed to be the nurse who attended him anymore. At first, he had thought it was a simple matter of avoidance - the situation on Platonius had been deeply humiliating for them all and he could not blame her for needing time to assimilate the events that had occurred. But then he had noticed that when she was forced to deal directly with him, she kept physical contact to a minimum, and he had realised something else was happening.

Chapel was a hands-on nurse. He had learned that from the first moment she had dealt with him. She came from a school of thought that believed in the power of touch as a source of healing and tranquillity. Initially, she had not known that Vulcans were touch telepaths and when she had been informed, she had incorporated that knowledge into her treatment of him. When he was conscious, she had worked hard to remember physical contact should be kept to that which was necessary even if she seemed to have a harder time remembering when he was very ill.

Through the contact, he had learned that it wasn't simply because her love for him drove her to be close to him. Her behaviour towards him was not unduly different to her behaviour towards any other patients under her care, only the emotions that flowed from her skin were different - an intangible discrepancy unnoticed by most except by him. Often, mingled with this he would feel a constant, muted, sense of guilt - her knowledge that she couldn't keep her feelings hidden from his telepathic abilities and that she was doing her best to control them to spare him discomfort.

She had no idea, of course, but her touch had never brought him discomfort. Her emotions had not been a flood that battered his telepathic barriers from the day they first met. There had been a subtle growth over time and had it not been for her forced declaration when affected by the Psi 2000 virus, he might not have immediately recognised them for what they were.

Ironic really, when he compared that experience to the unrestrained and overwhelming feelings that had always poured off Leila Kalomi's skin whenever in his proximity. Touching Leila had been disconcerting - briefly intoxicating but mostly quite uncomfortable. It wasn't that he had been immune to her charms, or had not returned any of those feelings - but even under the influence of the spores he had not felt inside his soul even half the power he had felt emanating from her. For a Vulcan - who had more powerful emotions than a Human could comprehend - that had been an important revelation: he cared deeply for her, and probably always would, but it was not the kind of love she was looking for.

Even after Psi 2000, even after Omicron Ceti III, Spock could not have said that Nurse Chapel's touch bombarded him in the way that Leila's had. Or ... or Zarabeth's for that matter.

Had it been because she had attempted to control the intensity of her feelings whenever she had touched him and that the other women had not? There had been times when the feelings from her touch had been much more intense than normal but nothing that had truly overwhelmed him. Despite being a Vulcan who disavowed love and shied away from emotion, her touch had always been the one tolerable part of his Sickbay experiences.

And he was entering into illogical speculation again.

On Platonius he had been truly overwhelmed by her emotions - it had been as Parmen intended. The Platonians had succeeded in their attempts to confuse and disorient him through emotionally powerful experiences - Nurse Chapel had indeed been the right choice for that. But in a sense, she had also been the wrong choice - for she had, as usual, been the one woman he had ever met who had attempted to ease the discomfort her touch would cause him by attempting to seek control in a situation that could not be controlled.

It was a puzzling fact that, of all the women who had ever professed to love him, she was the only one who had never been afraid of his Vulcan nature. The other women had seen it as an inconvenience to what they truly wanted - overtly emotional behaviour. Chapel, however, had never expected such a thing and indeed, if her infected declaration had been accurate, for him to deny his Vulcan self would have actually disappointed her. The emotions he had felt from her since that time had never suggested duplicity, which meant she held the unique position of being the only woman he had ever met who had loved him because of his Vulcan nature rather than despite it.

_It is possible,_ he reflected with a strictly internal shudder, _that she is, in some situations, a better Vulcan than I am._

It was a disturbing thought. In light of what Parmen had done to her appearance, it was also a painful one.

Since Platonius, she had reduced all situations involving physical contact between them down to the absolutely unavoidable. Was that to protect him? Or to protect her? He didn't know. What he did know was that Sickbay had become an intolerably sterile place since she had made this decision. Some core of illogic within him persistently pointed out that he was feeling empty, sometimes he had even found himself awaking from deep sleep or meditation feeling ... starved.

Brief encounters with Droxine had not filled the void and the absolute debacle of Sarpeidon had ... he paused, speculating. Zarabeth had left him reeling, in the same way separating from Leila after Omicron Ceti III had left him reeling. A loss of emotional excess, he had come to realise - like a recovering addict, he had felt cold and empty for a time before regaining his balance and moving on.

Except he hadn't regained his balance, not entirely. He hadn't been in balance in the first place when visiting Stratos and Sarpeidon. It was quite illogical that the absence of one person's touch could throw him out of balance, but the facts of the situation were indisputable.

And disturbing.

_Everything_ disturbed him at the moment. He hadn't realised just how much Nurse Chapel had, in her own way, come to benefit his meditations, just as his meditations had brought benefit to his interactions with her. With one missing, the other ... didn't seem to work so well.

He watched the last of the embers die before rising to his feet. Of course, with thinking this illogical, it was no wonder his meditations were struggling. He looked up at his chronometer ...

... And stared.

He had spent too long in thought and had lost track of time. He was going to be late for dinner.

That was disturbing too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Nurse Chapel had barely managed to clear the doors by five steps when Lieutenant Jeff Rivers brought her to a halt. She bit back a sigh and met his gaze, hoping it conveyed a respect for rank without suggesting any respect for the man behind it.

In giving up her career in bioresearch to locate her missing fiancé, she had taken a significant demotion to obtain a position on the _Enterprise_. Becoming a member of the nursing team had been the only option available but she had thought that Roger Korby was worth the sacrifice. As a result, despite her impressive scientific qualifications, as far as the _Enterprise_ was concerned, she was just an ensign and, as such, the Lieutenant did outrank her.

Which was unfortunate because she was fast reaching the stage where she wanted to give him a piece of her mind.

He wasn't all bad. He had the classic good looks - a tall frame, lightly muscled from regular, but not excessive, gym use. He had short, light brown hair and the most interesting green eyes she had seen in any man's face. He _was_ handsome. He was also a competent technician and a noted asset to Engineering.

Unfortunately, his ego went hand in hand with his talent. As did his persistence - she had told him three times already that she was not interested in meeting him over work, over dinner, over drinks or over anything else he could think of to entice her on a date.

Nothing was working.

He grinned easily at her. "Christine!" he said in delight. "I was hoping I'd bump into you!"

_That's Nurse Chapel to you, mister,_ Chapel thought irritably but carefully refrained from saying it out loud. "I'm busy, Lieutenant," she informed him, trying to step past him to reach her dinner companions. Behind him, she could see the two women were already on their feet - they both knew how annoying Rivers was becoming, he had even tried pestering them for knowledge of Chapel's off-duty hours so he could ambush her. While Uhura and Rand had no intention of telling him anything, it meant he was harassing them as well as her.

He side-stepped into her path, and her jaw tightened. "Lieutenant, this is really not the time."

"Jeff, please," he said with a charming smile. She didn't take the bait but his smile didn't dim. "And when is the right time, Christine?"

"Not now, sir," she said distantly. She scanned the room quickly, trying to determine the closest table of friends or acquaintances she could gatecrash as an excuse to escape but her dinner dates were the closest to her location - and that wasn't close enough.

He took a step forward, his gaze intent. Around the same height as Mr Scott, he was at least two inches taller than she was and Chapel found herself backing away from him to avoid being crowded. She _knew_ he was either herding her towards a wall or the doors she had just come through so that she wouldn't be able to escape his demands.

She could feel anger beginning to simmer. She _hated_ being intimidated.

"Are you free for dinner after 1800 hours tomorrow?" he asked, still smiling.

"No," she replied instantly. She was a horrible liar, so she didn't attempt to make anything up. She decided to take a leaf from Mr Spock's book and simply not bother explaining.

"Okay then," his smile actually broadened and he took another step forwards, forcing her to back up even further. Behind her, she heard the doors swish open and she realised he was trying to manoeuvre her into the corridor and away from public view. A faint knot of panic tightened in her stomach and that just fanned the flames of her irritation into rage.

She _really_ hated being intimidated.

"How about the day after?"

"No," she repeated firmly and wondered if she would be thrown in the brig if she punched him. She couldn't see Uhura and Rand over his shoulder any more and it worried her.

Her attention snapped back towards Lieutenant Rivers, who had taken advantage of her distraction to move closer. Damn, the man was a snake - she couldn't afford to take her eyes off him for a second.

"Thursday then, you have to be free Thursday?"

_God, doesn't this guy ever take the hint?_ She wasn't doing a very good job of hiding her anger any more and didn't even try. Let her be thrown in the brig then - at least she'd have peace and quiet. "I'm not free at any point this week, Lieutenant Rivers," she snapped in exasperation. If she was capable of arguing with the CMO, she was certainly not above arguing with an annoying engineer.

"How about next week then?" His eyes were twinkling brightly and it was with a sense of dawning horror that she realised this was nothing more than a game to him. Half the fun for him was to intimidate women into submission.

_He probably thinks it's just 'the fun of the chase' too,_ she thought furiously now fully prepared to let rip with exactly when she would be free for his kind of attentions. _Rank be damned! _And she was surprised to hear the audible growl in her throat.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who heard that growl.

"Is there a problem here?"

Chapel and Rivers both took their attention off each other as Spock appeared beside her like a manifesting wraith. It was then that the nurse realised she wasn't close enough to the doors to have triggered them at all. She wondered just how much of the altercation the Vulcan had witnessed. His expressionless features gave her no clues. Behind Rivers, she could see the Captain approaching from the back of the room, his grim face leaving her in no doubt that he had witnessed everything.

"Not at all, Mr Spock," Rivers said with an easy grin. "Christine and I were just talking,"

One eyebrow lifted. "Really, Mr Rivers?" the Vulcan's tone was even. "From where I was standing, it appeared you were talking and _Miss Chapel_ was attempting to leave your presence. Am I mistaken?"

Chapel's gaze met his very briefly as he scanned them both for answers. She had noticed the emphasis he had placed on 'Miss Chapel'. She wondered whether she should laugh or cry at his apparent ability to read her thoughts despite not being in physical contact with her.

"We were just discussing our off-duty times, Mr Spock," he replied as Spock focused fully on him.

Chapel had to give him credit for sheer guts. He met the Vulcan's intimidating stare with a direct stare of his own. His unsteady voice gave him away but he was _trying_ to avoid being intimidated by the Vulcan. Then she realised why - he honestly did believe what he was doing was harmless fun. He really couldn't see what the problem was. She felt her irritation flare again knowing that meant as soon as the command team's backs were turned Rivers would probably just try it all over again.

Spock was staring at her. For a moment, she wondered why, then she realised she was openly glaring at Lieutenant Rivers. She cleared her throat, slightly nonplussed and his gaze promptly returned to Rivers. "You are aware, Mr Rivers, that harassment is against the regulations?"

The Lieutenant's jaw actually dropped slightly. "Harassment?" he said incredulously. "It was just a question!"

"A question to which she repeatedly answered with a negative. Am I correct in stating that Humans believe that once a female says no, any further unwelcome action can be construed as harassment? Captain?"

"Quite right, Mr Spock," Kirk said grimly, causing Rivers to start, surprised to find the Captain standing at his elbow. The Lieutenant opened his mouth but was quickly silenced by the look he could see in Kirk's dark eyes. "Mr Rivers, this ship has encountered civilisations no-one's ever heard of before, met life forms no-one ever knew existed. We've documented phenomena that science previously though impossible and made astonishing medical and engineering breakthroughs. We've lost some good people on this mission but at least their families will know their lives made a difference and their memories will live on in the minds and hearts of the most dedicated and talented crew in the whole of Starfleet. This is a damn fine ship, mister, and I'm a damn proud captain. Anyone who tarnishes the reputation of the _Enterprise_ and its personnel by putting their own selfish desires before the health and well being of their colleagues does _not_ deserve to be on board this ship. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"

Rivers stared at his captain's burning gaze and swallowed. "Yes, sir," he whispered. Apparently, he found the Captain to be even more intimidating than the First Officer. Or maybe, he was just cowed by the passionate expectations Kirk had for his ship and its crew. Either way, the Lieutenant looked thoroughly whipped.

"Good. Dismissed."

Rivers slipped around Kirk and Spock, and quickly ducked out of the Mess without a backward glance.

"Who needs Platonians with colleagues like that!" Chapel had been watching his hasty retreat with a mixture of frustration and relief. She hadn't meant to think such a thing but not only had she thought it, she suddenly realised she'd spoken it out loud. A mutter, it was true, but she had still verbalised it. She turned her attention back to the command duo hoping they hadn't heard her words.

They were staring at her in silence and she felt the blood drain from her face. The Captain looked pale as well but Spock's expression was unreadable. His eyes, however, were suddenly glittering black shards. Anger? Hate? Shock? She didn't know what the emotion was, she only knew she couldn't meet that stare.

"Captain, I want to thank you for ... that," she managed in a strained tone, hoping they could get away from the _other_ subject. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again." And for a brief moment, she wasn't certain if she was apologising for the public altercation with Lieutenant Rivers or her sudden reference to Platonius.

"_You_ have nothing to apologise for," Kirk said grimly and something deep inside her wondered exactly which situation he was absolving her of. She risked a look at his face and saw his expression soften in response. "Are you alright?"

Suddenly realising the entire hall had witnessed the confrontation, she cleared her throat and decided to concentrate on the current issue rather than dwelling on things that were in the past. It wasn't every day a girl got to be rescued by the Captain, she could focus on that instead. "I'm fine, sir - just late for my dinner."

"Seems to be going around," Kirk replied shooting Spock a surprisingly easy grin. The Vulcan was watching them both in silence but he didn't react. He didn't even raise an eyebrow and Chapel saw Kirk's grin fade slightly.

_Interesting,_ she mused thoughtfully. Not just Spock's lack of reaction but that Spock would be late for anything. Then she shrugged her concerns off. It wasn't her problem. She needed to remember that.

"Anyway, Nurse, don't let me keep you from your dinner," he threw her his trademark boyish grin that usually left women weak-kneed and flustered. It didn't affect her in that way because he wasn't her type, but she still found herself smiling in response. James T. Kirk, irreverent charmer and incurable ladies man - his grins _were_ infectious.

Relieved to be given her escape from the Vulcan's unusually ominous gaze, Chapel threw the Captain another bright smile. "Thank you, sir," she ducked around the pair and hurried over to her relieved friends.

But the cold shiver that rippled down her spine told her the First Officer's strange stare was following her all the way across the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Captain Kirk slouched in the command chair. He should have been watching the approach to Beta Koris 2 but the _Enterprise_ was in the loving, talented hands of Lieutenant Commander Sulu and Kirk had absolutely no reason to hover over a helmsman who was so good at his job.

Instead, he was watching his First Officer's back. The Vulcan was bent over his station, lost in the pale blue glow of his computer, analysing the Beta Koris solar system. The Captain's mind wasn't so focused; he was too busy mulling over the previous evening's brief excitement.

Apparently, the rumours had been true and hopefully Lieutenant Rivers had received enough of a warning to drop the idea of chasing Nurse Chapel. On that score, only time would tell. But Kirk had been bothered by Chapel's reference to Platonius. He couldn't really blame her for making the comparison - Rivers had been relentless in trying to force her into doing something she didn't want to do and had been enjoying every moment of her discomfort. There _had_ been a rather uncomfortable echo of that accursed planet in the exchange.

Spock had been very quiet throughout their meal. Even Doctor McCoy hadn't been able to get a rise out of him. Kirk knew Spock well enough to have noticed how deeply the Platonius dig had stung him. It had also horrified the nurse, he had spotted that as well; she hadn't meant to voice her thoughts out loud - and he didn't think she had been blaming either Kirk or Spock anyway, she had merely been commenting on how much she had disliked the Lieutenant's behaviour.

He was wondering, however, if Spock thought she blamed them for Platonius - or maybe blamed the Vulcan specifically.

He glanced to his right, where the CMO was leaning up against the command chair, also watching the Vulcan with a thoughtful gaze. Although he had dearly wanted to, McCoy had not followed Kirk over to Chapel - Kirk had approached alone, intent on stamping his authority on the young Lieutenant. McCoy had stayed back because it had been in his Head Nurse's best interests for Kirk to make an effective impression.

As a result, he had not heard the exchange between the trio after Rivers had left. Kirk had told him about it later on, when Spock couldn't hear them and now Kirk knew that the CMO was wondering the exact same thing he was.

They were wondering if their speculation in the Mess yesterday evening had been accurate after all.

"Approaching Beta Koris 2, Captain," Sulu's quiet voice broke through his thoughts, bringing his attention back to the viewscreen and his job.

"Standard orbit, Mr Sulu," Kirk responded, noticing that Scott had stepped away from the Engineering station to stand at his left. The Chief Engineer was grinning broadly.

"Aye sir," Sulu was already aligning the ship to the planet's rotational patterns.

"Standard M-Class planet, Captain," Spock said quietly from his station. "Atmospheric conditions comparable to pre-warp industrial Earth. Gravity comparable to Earth. The mining colony is located within the planet's northern polar region. Sensors indicate the northern hemisphere is currently in a winter cycle." He pushed himself up to his full height and looked expectantly at Kirk.

"Thanks, Spock. Uhura, hail the colony."

"Aye, sir," the Communications Officer swivelled around to her console to comply with his order but her fingers suddenly froze. "Mining colony haling us, Captain," she said ruefully.

"On screen, Lieutenant."

Moments later, the viewscreen was filled by a red-faced, grizzled Human. He was wrapped up in heavy winter clothing, despite the fact he was sitting at a desk inside the colony's communications offices. "Federation Mining Colony, Beta Koris 2, here. Lyle Walker, director of this facility speaking." He squinted at Kirk. "Is that the ship Starfleet promised us?"

"James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS _Enterprise_," Kirk confirmed easily. "I hear you've got a large cargo of dilithium that needs transport."

"Yes, we certainly have," Walker grinned ruefully. "Our usual freighters have failed to show. Guess their previous experience of the local weather put them off. Can't imagine why."

Kirk chuckled. "Yes, I gather it's winter there right now?"

"A balmy 20-below at present, Captain. I hope you've got arctic survival gear aboard."

"We'll survive. I'll have a landing party prepped and ready to beam down within 15 minutes." Kirk glanced at his gently bouncing Second Officer. "I think my Chief Engineer will be joining us. Apparently, he's a fan of Koris 2 dilithium."

Walker laughed. "Most engineers are, Captain. I'll look forward to meeting you when you arrive. Walker ou--" he stopped suddenly, checking something that was out of view of the Bridge crew.

"Mr Walker?" Kirk asked, a little bemused by the sudden pause.

"Ah, sorry," Walker turned back to them. "_Enterprise_ right? That's the ship with a Vulcan commander, isn't it? Were you planning on sending him down?"

Kirk stared. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Spock's eyebrow rising. "Yes, is that a problem?"

"Not for me, no," the director gestured to his clothing. "Our climate controls are shot. We had a slight accident with the generators - always a hazard in winter but right now, the temperatures _inside_ the buildings are almost as cold as outside temperatures. Admittedly, I'm no expert when it comes to Vulcans, but I understand they don't tolerate the cold too well?"

Kirk blinked. "I'll bear that in mind, Mr Walker. Kirk out." He waited for the screen to go blank then glanced at Spock before turning to look at McCoy. Considering the fact that McCoy and Spock had recently survived an ice age, he wasn't too certain about Spock's inability to cope with cold temperatures. On the other hand, Spock _did_ find the ambient temperature of the _Enterprise_ slightly too cold for his personal preferences.

McCoy was already nodding vigorously from next to the command chair. "It's a fair concern, Jim," he agreed. "I've already treated him for frostbite once in the past month. Let's not make a habit of it."

At the reference to Sarpeidon, Spock stared impassively at the doctor. McCoy stared right back. Uhura looked between the pair curiously, clearly detecting the sudden tension.

"Well, we wouldn't want any harm to come to those pointed ears of yours, Mr Spock. It would break the hearts of every lady on board," Kirk interrupted with a relaxed, mischievous smile. "I guess we'll be leaving the _Enterprise_ in your capable hands."

Spock transferred his gaze to Kirk, ignoring the joke about his ears. "You'll be beaming down?" His question was, for the most part, rhetorical. Kirk _always_ found a reason for leading landing parties. Sometimes his reasons were actually logical.

Kirk looked innocent. "Mr Spock, if these crystals are going to change the efficiency of my ship's engines, I really should take a closer look at them."

But those times did not include this day. Spock pressed his lips together to avoid sighing. "Yes, Captain," he replied, his tone subtly indicating that he didn't really approve of Kirk's faux-logic.

"I better come with you, Jim," McCoy said, a mildly irritable note in his voice. "If their generators are out, a quick medical won't do them any harm."

"Doctor, I am quite certain the mining colony has medical staff of its own," Spock pointed out, calmly.

"Who are themselves not immune to frostbite," the CMO observed, bouncing gently on his toes. "Besides, they might be glad of the chance to restock their medical supplies if the cargo ship they were expecting hasn't arrived. It would be illogical to leave such a decision up to a bunch of engineers. Wouldn't you agree, Mr Spock?"

"As usual, Doctor McCoy, your logic is without foundation," Spock responded placidly. "Had there been any medical requirements, Mr Walker would have specified during his communication with the Captain."

McCoy's expression became almost as innocent as Kirk's had been only moments before. "Are you implying I've offered to beam down to a frozen wasteland - risking my very health in the process - for _fun_?" his voice was the very model of indignation. "Why that, Mr Spock, is the most illogical speculation I have ever heard!"

There were days when Spock wondered if he had made the correct decision to enter Starfleet and work aboard a ship full of Humans. This was one of those days. Had he been Human, he would have despaired. As it was, he was a Vulcan and he would combat the illogic of his colleagues with the stoic fortitude of a single raised eyebrow. McCoy grinned broadly in delight and every member of the Bridge crew was smiling.

"Bones, Mr Scott, you're with me," Kirk said, moving towards the turbolift, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Mr Spock, you have the con."


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

The landing party discovered very quickly that Lyle Walker had not been lying about the temperatures on the surface of Beta Koris 2. The facility's director immediately took them to the storage facilities where he left Lieutenant Commander Scott in charge of organising the transportation and storage of the dilithium crystals aboard the _Enterprise_. After that, Walker then gave Kirk and McCoy a tour of the offices.

The interiors of the buildings were definitely as cold as the outside world. "It really was a good thing Spock didn't beam down here," Kirk commented eventually, blowing into his gloved hands. Somehow, as technologically advanced as the Starfleet survival gear was, it didn't seem advanced enough for this weather.

"I'm beginning to regret it myself," McCoy agreed ruefully, rubbing his own hands together.

Kirk threw him an amused look. "So, what made you decide to come?"

"I told Spock the truth, Jim," McCoy admitted. "It _is_ worth double-checking the miners have all the medical supplies they need if they're missing a cargo ship." His face was so drained of colour that his normally blue eyes seemed to be little more than shards of ice but they were twinkling nevertheless. "Although if that green-blooded computer wants to _think_ I'm being illogical, that's entirely up to him."

Kirk chuckled, shaking his head and looked across to Walker, who was taking the opportunity a tour provided to double-check the output of the monitors that kept track of safety conditions in the mines themselves. "All our spare energy is going into emergency and essential operations at the moment," he explained as he rejoined them. "The backup generators are reliable, but there's not enough energy in them to do everything."

"You need more backup generators," McCoy grunted, stamping his feet.

"Being requested, believe me," the director grinned sheepishly.

"What was the accident that broke the main generators?" Kirk asked curiously as Walker began to lead them towards the colony's medical facilities.

Walker snorted in disgust. "They were quite old. Even in summer, temperatures don't really rise much above 10 degrees so the equipment is always struggling. A couple of new engineers were trying to change some of the old energy buffers when a blizzard hit us. They were so eager to get out of the weather they didn't make sure the panels were properly closed. The insides froze - some of the more fragile elements cracked. We need replacements, basically."

"My God, how long do you plan on waiting in this weather?" McCoy demanded. "How cold does it get at night?"

Walker chuckled. "Well, it could be worse. My chief engineer is actually of Inuit descent, and arranged for some good old-fashioned igloos to be built on the outskirts of the colony. It's amazing how warm those things can get on body heat alone. It's thanks to him that we're surviving out here right now. Some of his suggestions have helped us more than our modern technology could. It's pretty amazing."

"Good ol' fashioned common sense wisdom," McCoy grinned. "Sounds like my kind of medicine to me."

"And speaking of medicine," Walker hauled open a set of doors and led them into the medical facilities.

As McCoy wandered around the building and spoke with the local medical staff, Kirk stayed back with Walker. "Is it usual for cargo ships to not turn up?" the Captain asked curiously, getting to the heart of what he had really beamed down to investigate - a nagging gut instinct.

"Well, it depends on what you mean by 'not turn up'," the director said thoughtfully. "Things happen - engines breakdown, shipments get pirated, orders get screwed up, that sort of thing. But usually, if something like that happens, the official word gets out pretty quick. We've got good communications with several starbases out here, and Starfleet takes an interest in what goes on in this sector, so when things go wrong, we usually get informed pretty fast."

Kirk was nodding. "At higher warps, the Romulan Neutral Zone is a four day journey from here. Close enough to be nervous but not close enough for invasion to be practical for the Romulans."

Walker was nodding. "Yeah, there was a business two years ago with some outposts in the next sector getting destroyed before Starfleet stopped them - but since you're 'Fleet you probably heard all about that." he gave the Captain a curious look but only received a noncommittal shrug in response to his gentle fishing. "Oh well, worth a try I suppose," he smiled upon realising Kirk wasn't going to comment one way or another, and continued. "Aside from that, we've not heard of any Romulan activity round here for decades. Anyway, there's been a rumour in these parts for ... oh, since the last war, I think ... that Romulans don't like the colder planets. Although that might just be a myth."

"Maybe," Kirk replied casually, pondering that. After the first encounter between the _Enterprise_ and the Romulan bird-of-prey two years ago, the Federation Council had managed to convince the Vulcans to become a little more open about their pre-Reformation history so that Starfleet could better understand the Romulans. And when, more recently, they had infiltrated a Romulan ship, Kirk had noticed the ship's ambient temperature had been very similar to that maintained inside Spock's quarters on the _Enterprise_. It _did _make sense that Romulans would share Vulcan temperature preferences.

On the other hand, to Kirk's way of thinking, an ice planet would be a great strategic location for a secret operation if the enemy thought you couldn't tolerate the cold.

"Funny thing, though," Walker was musing, apparently unaware of Kirk's own distraction. "This time, there's been no word on what happened to the cargo ship. The starbases haven't heard anything; there's been no pirating in this sector. It's a bit of a mystery."

Kirk perked up at that. "What do you mean?"

"Well, they left Starbase 8 on time and no-one's heard anything since, basically. It should have been a two week journey but ... nothing."

"Engine trouble and communications trouble at the same time, perhaps," Kirk said easily. "You'd be amazed how often that can happen."

Walker smiled. "Yes, of course. It could be that simple."

Both men turned as the doors open and two men stamped through, Kirk recognised the bundled form of his second officer immediately, but the dusky skinned man with him had to be a local. Kirk didn't recognise him and he didn't seem to be wearing Starfleet issue.

"Ah," Walker said on seeing them. "Captain Kirk, this is John Henson, my chief engineer."

Kirk grinned. "I gather you're the man responsible for keeping everyone alive at night?"

Henson chuckled. "That would be me, yes."

"I had a thought on that, Captain," Scott said. "Mr Henson was explaining to me what the generators need and I think I may have buffers on board that'll do the job he's looking for."

"You're not going to cannibalise my ship are you, Mr Scott?" Kirk asked dryly.

"Captain! I would not do that!" Scott responded in a shocked tone. Then he spotted the mischievous grin and slumped sheepishly. "Aye, you got me, sir."

"How's the cargo looking, Scotty?"

"A wee bit of spring cleaning, sir, and it'll all fit on the _Enterprise_ without any trouble at all. I've got my lads moving it into position as we speak."

Kirk nodded. "Alright, Mr Scott, then by all means get those buffers and warm this place up."

Scott grinned. "Aye, sir!" He winked at Henson and hurried off to find the transporter pad and that wonderfully warm starship, leaving Kirk watching him go in envious silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

An irritated grumbling was echoing from the CMO's office as Nurse Chapel approached it. Expecting that to mean that Doctor McCoy had returned from the planet's surface, she was very surprised to find the usually cheerful Doctor M'Benga puttering around the desk.

He looked up as she knocked the door and entered. "Any problem, Doctor?" she asked, placing the datapadd she was carrying on the table in front of him.

"Starfleet bureaucracy," M'Benga sighed. "What's that?"

"I've completed the inventory of the Medlab Two's drug supplies." Chapel nodded to the padd. "That's the report."

"You are a saint. You know that, don't you?"

"A badly paid saint," she retorted with a smile.

He picked up the padd. "And not a very smart one," he chuckled suddenly. "I'll take this into my office where it won't get lost under all of this ..."

"Crap? Junk? Important Stuff That Gets Ignored Until The Last Minute?"

"All of the above," he laughed. "Is your shift over?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Ended fifteen minutes ago, actually. I thought I might as well complete the report so it's not hanging over my head until tomorrow. I'm currently thinking calories and holovids, what do you think?"

"Sounds like an excellent suggestion to me," he agreed. His tone was suddenly cautious and her heart sank. She knew that tone. M'Benga was going to ask her for a favour - and even though she had completed a full shift and was looking forward to some food and putting her feet up, she would agree because M'Benga was so _nice_ whenever he was asking for a favour.

She sighed. "What is it and how long will it take?" she asked in resignation.

He smiled apologetically and handed her the padd he had been muttering over when she'd entered the room. "The source of my annoyance. It's from Starfleet Medical and it's only just arrived. It's so late that it needs to be sent off in the next hour to stand a chance of returning in time. It just needs signatures. Captain, Science Officer and CMO by preference - but ACMO and First Officer will do the job just as well, since we don't have time to wait for the Captain and Bones to return."

She sighed again. "You want me to run up to the Bridge and get Spock's signature?"

"If you don't mind?"

She eyed him.

"Did I say you were a saint?"

Her shoulders slumped. "Yes, a put-upon, overworked saint," she caved with a last, rebellious grumble. "But this is the last thing. The second I return this from the Bridge, I'm out of here."

He beamed at her. "Thanks, Chris. Oh!" he added as she started to leave. She paused and turned back. "Spock should read it before he signs it. The signatures are for an authorisation request."

"I'll let him know, Doctor," she replied and left Sickbay quickly, before the ACMO could find anything else for her to do.

When Chapel arrived, she gravitated almost unconsciously to the Captain's chair in the centre of the room. By accident, she chose Doctor McCoy's favourite spot to the right of the big seat, which was currently empty. Spock was standing at the base of the steps leading to the science station, which was apparently being manned by Ensign Chekov. The pair were deep in discussion about some kind of debris picked up on long-range sensors - and since Ensign Richards, seated at Chekov's usual navigation post, was paying attention as well, Chapel decided to hold her tongue and wait for the conversation to end.

She scanned the Bridge quickly while she waited. Sulu was alternately paying attention to his console and listening to the conversation. On the left-hand side of the room, Lieutenant Peters was busy at the environmental controls, while at the engineering station ...

... Great. It was Lieutenant Rivers.

Although she had to admit he had his head down and was getting on with his job with quiet zeal. She spotted the tension in his shoulders and realised he was ignoring her with all the dedication with which he had previously been chasing her.

Either the Captain's speech had worked or Rivers, despite his ego, was maintaining professionalism on the Bridge. Not that Chapel cared, she was just happy to be ignored. She looked in Uhura's direction. Her petite friend glanced in Rivers direction then gave her a quick thumbs up to indicate the Captain's speech had indeed been a success after all.

Chapel grinned back in relief and returned to her curious study of the Bridge.

She didn't usually have much reason to be on Deck One. Possibly the longest she had ever spent in this room had been on the day they had arrived at Exo III to answer a distress signal sent out by her fiancé, Doctor Roger Korby. With that exception, she had only ever found herself on the Bridge to administer shots to crewmembers who couldn't leave their stations. Despite having been on the _Enterprise_ for nearly three years, she could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had been given a reason to exit through these turbolift doors and approach the Con.

The nurse was therefore not surprised to see the slightly bemused expression in the First Officer's eyes when he finally noticed her standing patiently beside the command chair.

She handed him the datapadd when he approached her. "It's an authorisation request. Doctor M'Benga needs it to be submitted within the hour. In the absence of the Captain and CMO, the First Officer and ACMO's signatures are required. It's supposed to go through the Science Officer anyway."

"Understood," the Vulcan said quietly. He sat down, absorbed in the datapadd and she backed away from her close proximity to him, moving up the steps to perch on the rails next to Uhura.

"How's it going?" Uhura whispered to her.

"Shift ended half an hour ago," Chapel murmured back ruefully. "How about up here?"

"Routine, as you can see," the Communications Officer waved a hand across her console. "I'm running a diagnostic while we wait."

"That's life in the fast lane for you," the nurse grinned.

"Yeah, the fun never stops," was the chirpy agreement.

"So what's this planet like that everyone was so eager to visit?" Chapel asked curiously.

"20-below," the small African woman grinned wickedly. "The colony's at the pole and it's winter. Apparently the generators are out on the surface so the landing party is probably having fun."

Chapel chuckled very softly. "I'm so glad I'm not down there."

"You and me both, Chris," she agreed, then her expression froze. "What the...?" She swung back to her console, her fingers flying. Chapel studied her for a moment, noticing the confusion, the tension. Quickly, she moved away from the rails to lean against the back wall, out of everyone's way.

"Lieutenant Uhura?" Spock looked up from the datapadd almost at the same moment. Chapel watched in fascination, unable to remember a time when she had been on the Bridge when Kirk had not been in command. In his own way, Spock was as attuned to the moods of the crew around him as was Kirk. That much was obvious by the speed at which he had just reacted to Uhura's change in demeanour.

"Thought I picked up something, sir. Trying to reacquire now," Uhura pressed one slim finger against her earpiece and turned to fully focus on her console.

All of a sudden, Chekov stiffened at the science console. "Commander," he exclaimed. "Strange energy reading building behind us!"

"On screen," Spock said immediately, rising to his feet.

The viewscreen was suddenly filled with the vast black and silver pattern of space, interrupted at intervals by the planets of the solar system they were in. The viewscreen was showing an image from behind the ship, so the planet they were orbiting wasn't currently visible.

But there was something forming in the middle of the screen - a faint shimmer, as if there was some strange visual distortion trying to find focus.

"What is it, Mr Chekov?" Spock asked quietly, observing that Chekov was staring at the viewscreen. His nudge worked, and the young man was suddenly all business, staring deep into the blue depths, scowling and muttering under his breath as he attempted to answer the Commander's question.

But Richards was already hissing in recognition. "Mr Spock, it's a--" he began.

"Raise shields!" Spock commanded, apparently on the same wavelength as the navigator. He didn't shout. His voice was gentle and commanding, filled with an hypnotic imperialism. "Helm - evasive action!" Even as he spoke, he was spinning on his heel, his dark gaze sweeping across Chapel's startled figure. "Nurse - leave," he ordered, his hand hitting a button on the command panel.

Chapel found herself responding to that compelling authority even before her mind registered the fact he had spoken. As the turbolifts opened to remove her from frenetic activity she wasn't qualified to handle, the ship lurched sickeningly, catching her by surprise. There was the strangest sound, one that reminded her of thunder, and suddenly, she was flying.

The last thing she remembered was the red alert klaxons blaring in her ears.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

_Why is everything so white?_

That was the first thought that crossed Nurse Chapel's mind upon cracking her eyes open.

The second thought was that 'cracking' was a great word for describing how her head felt. Something had impacted with her skull and was currently trying to pry it open like she was a hard-boiled egg. Little red and yellow spots were dancing in front of her vision. Her eyes ached. The whole world was rocking gently, like she was in an old-fashioned cot. All of which was very interesting, but it didn't answer her first question.

Why was everything so white?

Slowly, she heaved herself into a sitting position. Her world spun before her eyes and she almost lost her balance again. Panic tightened in her belly as she contemplated how badly concussed she must be for her centre of balance to be so badly damaged before she realised that, despite her throbbing head, her vision wasn't that bad, she wasn't feeling nauseous, and the pain didn't seem that severe. She wasn't the one moving - her world was.

New question, then: why was the world rocking?

Slowly she focused her gaze on her surroundings. It was white, alright. A long shaft, white walls, white ceiling, white floor. There was a metal ladder built into the walls on either side of her and there were no corners: everything seemed incredibly ... circular.

Several feet above her, the number '1' was painted on the wall in grey. Right next to a door. A door that was three-quarters open, and clearly stuck in that position.

Realising she was in the turbolift, she tried to clamber to her feet but immediately lost her footing. Blood pounded through her head, stealing her breath and her vision. For a few moments, she rested on hands and knees, panting, waiting for her eyes to refocus on the floor below, and slowly, she became aware of the hatch beneath her fingers.

It wasn't her head that had driven her to her knees, she realised suddenly. It was the floor she was standing on. And that hatch ... since when did the floors hatch open downwards?

Shock flooded her then, understanding driving her pain to the back of her mind. She wasn't _in_ the turbolift, she was _on_ it. Looking back up to the broken doors, she realised the turbolift had never made it to its correct position. She had fallen a good eight feet through doors that had opened too soon, onto the roof of a turbolift that had stopped in the wrong place.

Tentatively, she reached out to grab hold of one of the access ladders, feeling the turbolift rock dangerously beneath her again as she did so. Now her head was clearing, she was beginning to think once more, and notice things she had previously missed.

Such as the fact that one of the turbolift's four safety couplings had been wrenched clean away from the shaft wall.

And a second was threatening to follow suit.

She tightened her hold on the ladder and carefully pulled herself off the roof of the turbolift. She ached and she was fairly certain she was badly bruised in places but nothing felt broken or even sprained. Hopefully, she didn't have concussion either. She eyed the couplings warily. Although one was broken and a second could not be trusted, the other two seemed to be intact and doing their job.

Her options?

Limited, she decided immediately. The turbolift was far too dangerous to climb into, and she would have had nowhere to go even if she had done so. She had to return to the Bridge. She frowned at the broken door.

_And damn well close that door before anyone else falls down here,_ she decided peevishly.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully climbed back up to the Bridge and hauled herself through the doors onto the main deck. It didn't take her very long but as she began to regain her feet, everything bucked, the entire ship shaking so badly it felt as though it was coming apart at the seams. Thrown to the floor, she barely had the presence of mind to stop herself from being flung back down the turbolift shaft she had just climbed out of.

Okay, those doors _definitely_ needed to be closed, she decided irritably, sacrificing grace for practicality by rolling away from the shaft.

"Shields down to 56 per cent!"

That was Lieutenant Rivers, she realised, recognising the voice. And then the sound of the red alert made its way into her conscious mind.

They were in the middle of a dogfight. And there was no way in hell she was supposed to be on the Bridge for this.

"Hard right, Mr Sulu!"

That was Spock's voice. He no longer sounded quite as calm as he had when ordering her off the Bridge. The ship lurched again as Sulu complied with his commanding officer's orders and then shivered as if it had skipped through the wake of something - something powerful.

"That was too close!" Chekov breathed from the science station, his voice strained with emotion. Chapel found herself cataloguing them, some part of her, that medically trained part, functioning automatically. Fear, pain, anger, frustration.

_Pain?_

Her medical instincts kicked in, pushing her confusion to the back of her mind. Pressing herself against the wall, she regained her footing and pulled herself upright. First things first - the turbolift shaft was a death trap right now, she _had_ to get those doors closed. Feeling her way across the wall, she found the manual controls, and ungraciously broke the casing to grab the handle. For a moment, she didn't think they were working but then, seconds later, the doors screeched painfully and finally closed.

Wincing at the noise, she turned sharply to survey Main Bridge.

No-one was paying attention to her, she suspected no-one had even heard the doors reluctantly obeying her commands. Chapel swallowed. She had never been on Deck One during combat before. She was out of her depth, she didn't understand the protocol, she was a liability the command crew couldn't afford.

But she _was_ used to being in Sickbay during combat, and she was fairly certain that Bridge could not possibly be as chaotic as Medical during these kinds of crises. Her hands balled into fists. She had what it took to stay calm under pressure. She knew it, she'd proven it.

Now she just had to remind herself of it.

_You're a nurse, Christine. Act like one. Check for injuries._

Good plan. Her eyes scanned the Bridge. There was smoke in the air. It was faint, and seemed concentrated mostly to the left-hand side of the Bridge. It wasn't impairing vision, it was more like a light haze but it gave her a starting point.

Something had given out at Environmental. There was no sign of Lieutenant Peters. Her eyes swept around the room in order. Lieutenant Rivers was white-faced, head down, working frantically. There was blood around his temple, he clearly had a head wound of some kind. It was just as clearly not slowing him down.

Her gaze swept on. She could only see Lieutenant Uhura's back, but from the way she was sitting she had some kind problem with her torso - ribs or spine, probably ribs. Either the Communications Officer was thoroughly saturated with adrenaline or the wounds weren't too severe. Nevertheless, it was something she was going to have to remember - just like Rivers' head wound.

Chekov also had his back to her, bent over the science station. His posture was steady, she couldn't see any sign of injury but was mindful of the pain she had heard in his voice. Richards and Sulu she didn't have a good view of at all but they also appeared to be functioning perfectly well.

Spock was standing tensely beside Sulu, eyes fixed on the viewscreen, and he wasn't looking injured at all.

The viewscreen.

There was a Romulan bird-of-prey bearing down on them.

_Romulans?_ she thought in disbelief. _The Neutral Zone's a week away at standard warp!_

"Mr Sulu, fire phasers," Spock ordered, turning back to his chair. His movements faltered slightly as he spotted the frozen nurse but he didn't waste time questioning her presence. "Brace yourself," he ordered her, and sank into the command chair to do the same.

She had just enough time to grab hold of the rails next to Uhura's station before the ship reeled under the Romulans' latest onslaught. But she heard the _Enterprise_ whining in response as its own weapons kicked into play and the triumphant exclamation from Sulu as the phasers found their target.

"Shields reduced to 44 per cent, Mr Spock," Rivers snapped. "They're packing more firepower than we are! In fact ... their weapons are more effective than they should be!"

"Right again, Mr Sulu," Spock seemed to be neither celebrating the hit nor panicking at the engineer's news. The ship again only just skipped another barrage of fire from the bird-of-prey but this time appeared to escape and successfully place some distance between the two ships.

From her position, Chapel could finally see Environmental. Peters was slumped in a crumpled heap at the base of his chair and wasn't moving. Heaving herself back to her feet, she circled around the Bridge, dropping to her knees next to the prone Lieutenant just as the ship bucked again.

"Measuring a slight energy drop, sir!" Chekov's excited voice rose from Science. "They've still got a range limit on their weapons!"

"Good," Spock said quietly. "Mr Sulu, maintain your distance."

Chapel tuned them out as she straightened the fallen officer and began to check him over for injuries. A cursory examination didn't reveal anything major but without Sickbay equipment, she couldn't know for certain. Given his comatose state, he clearly had some kind of head injury and the console was venting gas straight into his face. She couldn't leave him where he had fallen.

Climbing to her feet, she gathered him up as best she could and hauled him towards the front of the Bridge, out of the way of his, or anyone else's, stations. She settled him into as safe a position as she could under the circumstances, then hurried back to the Environmental station, trying to ascertain exactly what was venting and if it would cause any medical complications.

"Oh, that's not good," she muttered to herself as she spotted the console's warning messages.

"Status of the Romulan vessel?" Spock was asking as she pushed the sluggish console for a full report.

"Holding position, sir," Sulu replied.

"They outgun us but we're faster," Richards commented. "They must have realised that."

"Thank you for that report, Mr Richards," the Vulcan sounded slightly disapproving. "Miss Chapel, report."

The command took her by surprise. She turned sharply to find the First Officer at the rails of her station, watching her intently. She hadn't even heard him approach. Suddenly realising she was doing more than just checking the health and status of a single individual, she pulled herself together and straightened. "We're leaking radiation and there's an EPS circuit venting plasma," her brow furrowed. "The radiation could become a problem if the leak's not fixed soon, sir. We're cut off from the rest of the ship at the moment - the turbolift is broken and I don't have the technical expertise to patch up this console."

"I do!" the response came in stereo from both Richards and Rivers.

Spock stepped back and turned to regard the entire Bridge thoughtfully for a moment, his hands sliding behind his back as he considered the problem at hand. To the rest of them, he looked so calm it was as if he had completely forgotten about the Romulans. His relaxed manner seemed strangely incongruous with the nervous tension that was hanging heavily in the air.

Spock hadn't forgotten the Romulans, of course, but right now he had just as large a problem on the Bridge itself. The broken turbolift would explain why the nurse had disobeyed his command to depart, but it also meant they couldn't replace equipment or restaff the Bridge - and they were already undermanned. If he could not make the most efficient use of the limited resources available to him, the Romulans would destroy them. "Nurse, what is Lieutenant Peters condition?"

She blinked once. "Without a proper physical I can't say for certain. For the moment, he's unconscious but stable. However, the radiation has been leaking directly into his face ever since the console took damage. He really needs to get to Sickbay as soon as possible."

He nodded slowly, then started back across the room towards his chair. "Mr Rivers, you must remain where you are. Mr Richards, take over Environmental. Mr Chekov, resume navigation control."

Although both engineers responded immediately and without complaint, Chekov straightened, looking nonplussed. "And Science, sir?"

"Ensign Chapel will replace you at Science, Mr Chekov - she is a suitably qualified scientist."

"Aye sir," Chekov seemed to accept that explanation immediately and slipped back into his usual navigation position. Chapel stared at the Russian in mild disbelief then turned an incredulous look onto Spock. Although she could see the Bridge was understaffed and isolated, that didn't change the fact she had never manned that station before. Let alone in a combat situation.

_My God, _she wondered worriedly, _how can Spock possibly think this decision is logical?_

Spock was raising an eyebrow at her hesitancy, a suggestion in those deep brown eyes that she really should stop thinking and start obeying. Swallowing, realising now was not the time for doubts, she hurried across the floor and stepped up to the station. Uhura threw her a quick, encouraging smile and the nurse suddenly wondered how visible her concerns really were. When she realised she couldn't return the smile, she knew that her face was an open book.

Only as she turned to stare into the glowing depths of the science computer did it occur to her that Spock had referred to her as an ensign instead of a nurse. It didn't take her long to work out why given what she had just been ordered to do. Right now, having a nurse on the Bridge was useless but she was a fully trained scientist and she was Starfleet - nursing had never been, would never be, her primary career. Spock knew that and, by using her formal rank, was focusing everyone else's minds on that fact too.

Motivational team building, Vulcan style. Who knew?

She pursed her lips to bite back the nervous grin that threatened to escape and quickly looked at the control console. In fact, her scientific expertise was far greater than Chekov's. If he could successfully man this station, then so could she. She just needed time to familiarise herself with how everything worked but given the fact there was a Romulan bird-of-prey hovering off their port bow, she was absolutely certain that time was a luxury she didn't have.

Twenty-four hours ago, she had been standing in front of a mirror telling herself she knew exactly how good a scientist she really was.

What she had to do now, was prove it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

"Bridge to Engineering."

There was a strange silence on the Bridge. Despite the hissing Environmental console, despite Richards working frantically to stem the radiation leak, despite the clicking of buttons and switches, breathing slightly laboured from the recent surge of adrenaline, there was, nevertheless, an odd silence on the Bridge.

Except for Commander Spock's voice.

_Too calm_, Human minds identified. _We're in the middle of a stalemate. Any second now, violence could erupt again. And he's too calm. Is it nerves? Fear? Does he care at all?_

Those who worked closely with Spock knew that while Vulcans encouraged the belief they possessed no emotions, it wasn't entirely true. There had even been occasions when they had seen evidence of emotion rather than logic driving Spock's actions. Oh, he had never lost control during such situations, he had always been able to explain his behaviour in a logical manner - but nevertheless, there had been hints that emotion had contributed in some capacity to his decision-making. Therefore, these Vulcan-experienced Humans did not question whether Vulcans felt emotion, they merely questioned how much emotion influenced Vulcan logic.

It was a question even Captain Kirk had never been able to get Spock to answer. And that now created a barrier between the _Enterprise_'s current commanding officer and his crew. While he had learned a lot of painful lessons since the Galileo's crash two years ago, he hadn't learned them all. He still struggled with empathy. They could look to him for efficiency, rationality and professionalism but they couldn't look to him for understanding of their hidden fears. He was better than he used to be but he wasn't Captain Kirk. He could provide sound judgement but there was still doubt about his ability to inspire.

"Scott here," the Chief Engineer's breathing was ragged, as if he had been involved in strenuous physical exertion. It was, Spock reflected, quite probably true as Scott had been on his way to Transporter 1 to return to the mining facility when the attack had occurred. The fact he was in Engineering to respond to Spock's hail implied a great dedication by the Second Officer to have made it back to his station so fast. "What the devil's going on, Mr Spock?"

"Romulans, Mr Scott," Spock said evenly and was rewarded by a moment's silence.

"This far from the Neutral Zone?" Scott sounded like he couldn't quite believe what he had just been told. "Why on earth would they risk it, Mr Spock?"

Romulans were inside Federation space. Not only that but in order to reach the Beta Koris system, they must have been inside Federation space for several days. There had been no warnings, no hints, nothing to suggest activity or conflict within the Neutral Zone, or along its borders; no intelligence to suggest they were planning anything at all. The Romulans had not carved a path of destruction as they travelled. They had moved noiselessly, unseen, avoiding conflict wherever possible.

And then broken their cover in an unprovoked ambush on the _Enterprise_.

If they had maintained their secrecy could they have made it to a Federation homeworld without detection? Could they have made it to Vulcan? Or even Earth?

The Humans on the Bridge were baffled and confused. They were also worried. Spock could see it in their faces, in their mannerisms. Until now, there had been no reprieve for anyone to voice the questions they clearly had.

Until now.

"Unknown," Spock didn't have time to debate the subject and came to the point. "Mr Scott, Turbolift 1 is inoperable. Main Bridge is inaccessible."

Chapel looked up sharply from the science station. "Two of the ceiling couplings have given out. If the technicians approach from underneath, they'll need to know that. It's unstable...sir," she added quickly, as Spock lifted his eyes to stare at her.

She swallowed. She was used to questioning McCoy and M'Benga when necessary. Over the years, they had worked out where the boundaries were - she knew when to push and when to hold her tongue. Within in the labs, she had developed that same dynamic with Spock. But that had been in a research capacity. This was Main Bridge. This was combat. And Platonius had destroyed their rapport.

She wasn't sure where the boundaries were anymore. If she wasn't careful, if she fell back on habit and challenged whenever she felt it necessary, what would happen? This wasn't Sickbay. This wasn't a research lab. What worked there might not work here. What if she fell back on habit once too often and distracted them at the wrong moment? Would she get them all killed?

His stare was making her shiver.

But the First Officer didn't question her interruption and merely relayed the extra information instead.

"We have experienced a radiation leak, Mr Scott. There is a certain medical urgency associated with this request."

_As well as the tactical urgency,_ the Vulcan reflected. But he didn't need to state that - Scott understood.

"It'll be a priority, Mr Spock. How long before radiation reaches lethal levels?"

"Two hours at this rate," Richards gasped from underneath the Environmental controls, clearly hearing the Chief Engineer's question. "I might not have the equipment I need to fully fix this. Best I can do is slow down the leak."

"Peters may have suffered inhalation damage," Chapel added. "Richards' exposure will be of concern as well. It may not be two hours for them."

_Dammit, Christine, what did you just tell yourself?_

"Fun," she heard Richards mutter from underneath the console but he didn't pause in his efforts to repair the damage. And again, Spock didn't question her interruption. She wondered how long she'd keep getting away with that if she didn't control her innate instinct to speak her mind.

"Mr Scott," Spock said. "When you know how long this will take, make sure Sickbay has a team on standby. You have a maximum of two hours. Please attempt to resolve this situation much sooner. Lives may depend on it."

"Aye, I'll try sir," Scott sounded cautious. "Scott out."

Spock lifted his eyes to focus on Uhura. The Communications Officer met his gaze calmly. "Send a coded message to Starfleet," he ordered quietly. "Inform them we have come under attack by Romulans while in routine orbit above Beta Koris 2. Reason for their presence, unknown. How long they have been here, unknown."

"Aye sir," she said and turned away.

Spock turned away from the command panel to regard Environmental thoughtfully and was interrupted by the nurse again. "Mr Spock, radiation dosage is inversely proportional to distance. Doubling the distance will quarter the dose. If we move Lieutenant Peters over to this side of the room it will minimise any further exposure he suffers."

This time, the Vulcan turned stiffly to face her, fully intending to remind her of where she currently was and to focus on Science. But he paused, slightly startled upon realising she had been quite successfully multi-tasking all this time - reacting to the situation on the Bridge as a nurse while not once neglecting her new duties to the Science station.

Fascinating.

Spock moved the prone crewman in silence. Although he was aware of her lack of Bridge experience and acknowledged several quite logical concerns about her ability to man Science during combat, her dedication, efficiency and determination to succeed had never been questionable. But, in the past three months, he had questioned a lot of things he shouldn't have. He trusted everyone on the Bridge to do their jobs to the best of their ability, he needed to grant Chapel the same or their ability to resolve their current problem would be impaired. Once upon a time, he had never doubted her skill, expertise or professionalism. He was a little shaken to discover he was doing so now.

Was Platonius really still so much of an issue? Or was it her lack of experience on the Bridge? The latter question made no sense - she functioned admirably in Sickbay under such conditions. The Bridge was a new location, with a new duty, but she had already proven countless times that she could cope with combat situations and she was a qualified scientist. That, therefore, could not possibly be his concern. The former question, however ...

The former question was emotional and unprofessional. It had no place in the mind of either a Vulcan or a first officer and it certainly had no place on the Bridge - under any circumstances but most especially right now.

"Mr Spock, I'm picking up more of that subspace noise," Uhura was scowling. "There's a lot of interference but I think it might be artificial. Sir, the Romulans could be sending a message."

"Are you able to determine the content?" Spock carefully placed Peters near Chapel's station and returned to the command chair.

"Working on it now, sir," Uhura returned to her console,

"Romulan ship is moving away, Mr Spock!" Chekov's voice was a bark of alarm.

"Direction?"

Chekov stared, threw a glance at Sulu's bemused face, then turned to face Spock. "Deeper into Federation territory, sir!"

Spock studied him for a moment, then looked up at the viewscreen thoughtfully.

"Do we follow, Commander?" Sulu asked, fingers poised to order the ship to give chase.

Spock watched the ship moving away. It hadn't cloaked, it was moving very swiftly, and it was heading away from the Neutral Zone, further into Federation space.

Dealing with Romulans was like playing chess: one began without knowledge of the opponent's strategy and planned a series of moves and countermoves in order to identify that strategy and render it useless. Romulans were ruthless but they were patient. There _were_ many similarities between them and Vulcans.

The ship hadn't cloaked.

And suddenly, Spock suspected he knew what the Romulans were up to and why.

"Yes, Mr Sulu. Match velocity and maintain this distance."

"Sir, we're abandoning our landing party?" Rivers' tone was mild.

"Man your station, Mr Rivers," the Vulcan's voice was quiet, too quiet. The Lieutenant stared at him for a moment, then spun back around to his console.

Spock sat down and watched, almost pensively, as the Romulan ship left the solar system behind and entered deep space.

"What on earth do you suppose they're doing?" Sulu muttered to Chekov as they followed. "They're not even headed for Earth."

"Probably something sneaky, knowing them," was Chekov's unhelpful response.

Chapel listened to the exchange even as she scanned the space around the two vessels. She was beginning to get the hang of this station now. She wasn't going to be great but she could be competent. Sulu was right, they weren't heading for Earth - or any other Federation homeworld that she knew of. That meant they were doing something else. She widened the focus of her search, trying to identify any asteroids or moons - something that they might seem to be aiming for, that would help explain where they were going or what they were up to.

"Mr Spock," Uhura said softly. "The signal was definitely Romulan in origin. I'm trying to decode the message now."

Spock nodded to indicate he had acknowledged her and rose from his seat. If he was right about his suspicions ...

"Romulan ship just stopped, sir," Chekov told him.

"All stop," Spock replied. "Prepare to divert all available energy to the shields, ready aft phasers."

"Aft?" Sulu asked.

"Aft, Mr Sulu."

"Aye sir," Sulu complied looking puzzled. Then the puzzlement died to be replaced by suspicion. He swallowed, and began to key instructions into the computer. If his suspicion about Spock's suspicion was right, then a little extra planning wouldn't hurt at all.

On screen, the Romulan ship had turned to face them, it was glowing, as if about to fire but then Uhura spoke. "Romulan vessel is hailing us, Mr Spock," she sounded baffled.

Spock stirred restlessly. He had not expected that. For a moment, he wondered if his suspicions were incorrect. "Lieutenant, will you be able to establish a link that will allow us to monitor their transmissions when they have finished communicating with us?"

"It'll take me a moment to set up, sir," was the reply.

"Do that, then open a channel."

It took her a few moments to respond, then she twisted her earpiece, and turned to face him. "Hailing frequencies opened, sir," she said quietly and turned back to her console to concentrate on hacking into the Romulans communications system.

On the viewscreen, a set of angular, chiselled features appeared. The arrogant lift to the chin, the dark pleasure in the eyes and the tiny, almost cruel smile on the lips was unexpected enough to remind them they were looking at a Romulan and not a Vulcan.

The translators buzzed into action as the Romulan spoke. "Human commander of the Federation starship ..." he began.

It was as far as he got.

"Human?" Spock interrupted in a mild tone, one eyebrow lifting.

The Romulan stared at him, for the first time focusing on the face he was confronted by. His eyebrows shot up in a disconcertingly familiar fashion. "A Vulcan?" he leaned backwards slightly, apparently very startled by this unexpected turn.

Spock didn't belabour the point. "Your presence within Federation space is a violation of the terms of the Earth-Romulan treaty and will not go unchallenged. You will desist your activities here and allow us to escort you back to the Neutral Zone where you will immediately return to Romulan space." He didn't have much hope that the Romulans would comply but the formalities needed to be observed.

A smile played across the Romulan's lips. The Humans on board couldn't help watching with fascination - it was the closest to an emotional Vulcan they would probably ever get. "'_He talks peace if it is the only way to live_?'" the Romulan queried. "Did it not occur to you that Surak conveniently forgot to mention it is _not_ the only way to live?"

Spock studied the Romulan with obvious curiosity. "It is not a lifestyle without merit," he replied calmly.

The commander stared at him in silence for a moment. The Vulcan could not identify the express on the Romulan's face - and that intrigued him. "It's a gracious offer, Vulcan, but I decline," the Romulan said at last with ... was that a hint of regret, Spock wondered. "Now I will make you an offer. You may surrender, and live - we will treat you with courtesy if you agree. We Romulans are not completely unsympathetic to Surak's followers - we will respect life, if you choose to live. If not, we will finish this battle. You will not survive." The Romulan smiled faintly. The smile didn't reach his eyes - but in a Romulan, that meant nothing. "Logic dictates you surrender. It is your best chance for the survival of your crew, and that is most important to Vulcans, is it not?"

Spock regarded the Commander steadily. The fact that Romulans knew more about Surak than he had expected was interesting. Either the Romulans had chosen to keep the memories of that time alive for some reason, or Romulan infiltration into the Federation was quite successful. Or perhaps it was a little of both?

_The Romulan is stalling for time._

Spock didn't know how he knew that, he didn't know if logic warned him, or whether it was that illogical gut instinct Humans relied so heavily on. The conversation seemed pointless, without logic. The Romulans didn't share the Vulcan respect for life and could not be trusted to keep their word. A Vulcan would not trust a Romulan on word alone, not with the history both races shared, and the Romulan had to know that.

Unless the Romulan was stalling for time, there was no logic to this conversation at all.

"I decline," Spock said simply. "_Enterprise_ out." The second Uhura cut communications, he snapped. "Mr Sulu, retreat!"

"Aye sir," Sulu was the only one in the room not caught off-guard by the command, and put the ship into a full reverse - with almost the same degree of urgency he had used to flee the Romulan plasma weapons two years before.

Chapel scowled at her sensor readings. The computer was detecting an energy build up but it wasn't coming from the Romulan ship. It didn't seem to be weapons related or any kind of known space phenomenon. Either she hadn't got the hang of this station nearly well enough or the computer really had no idea what this strange energy reading represented.

_Strange energy reading building up behind us!_

Hadn't Chekov used those exact words just before the first attack? Chapel blinked and quickly recalled the computer's information on Chekov's original sensor displays.

The energy readings were identical.

"Energy build up behind us. Possible bird-of-prey decloaking!" she yelled.

"Shields to max." Spock reacted immediately. " Mr Sulu - fire! Evasive actions, get us out of here."

Rivers jumped to enhance the shield structure. At the same time, Sulu made full use of the evasive tactics he had pre-programmed upon his earlier suspicions. Even as the _Enterprise_ was firing on the new ship, the old one was firing on them. The ship rocked violently and then shuddered a second time, something screeching loudly, as if the hull itself was being torn apart. Chapel was flung away from her station, barely having the presence of mind to grab the unconscious Lieutenant Peters and hold him steady. Something behind her crashed and she could feel her stomach drop through her boots.

The ship was beginning to roll.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

"Jim, I'll be glad to get out of this frozen hellhole, that's for sure," McCoy strolled over to Kirk who was standing near the window of the security office gazing pensively at his hand. The CMO could see he was holding his communicator. "Where's Walker?"

Kirk nodded towards a wall of glass. In the next room, the director was squinting at the computers. "He's double-checking the security monitors," he sounded absent-minded, as if his mind really wasn't on the conversation at hand.

"Spit it out, Jim."

Kirk looked up in surprise, then focused on McCoy for the first time. "Do they need any medical supplies?"

"Hm? Oh, no, they seem to be well-stocked for the moment. Looks like I wasted a trip. First thing I'm going to do when back on board is take a long hot shower and thaw out. You're avoiding the question, Jim. What's wrong?"

The Captain sighed. "I was just thinking about the missing cargo ship. I told Walker it could just be technical trouble."

"But you don't think it is?"

Kirk shook his head. "Pirates have left this region alone for years, Bones. But that doesn't mean it's safe out here."

McCoy nodded. "I'm sure the Orions would love to get their hands on this stuff, if it's as good as Scotty says it is." He nodded at the communicator. "You're thinking of asking Spock to do a long-range sweep for debris?"

"It's a thought," Kirk agreed. "Or maybe anywhere a pirate ship could hide." He looked down at his thickly gloved hand. "But mostly, I was wondering why Scotty hasn't returned yet."

"Scotty? Where'd he go?"

"Back to the ship, to get supplies for the engineers to fix these generators. He should have returned by now."

McCoy threw Kirk a shrewd look. "Contact the damn ship, Jim. You're not going to be happy until you do. I know you and these moods." He paused, then his expression sobered. "Besides, your moods are usually right, and we both know it."

"Spock will accuse us of being illogical, Bones," Kirk smiled ruefully but he flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_. Come in _Enterprise_."

Static crackled across the communicator. There was no response.

"Kirk to _Enterprise. _Come in _Enterprise._"

"Maybe it's the cold," McCoy grumbled, digging out his own, feigning a nonchalance they both knew he didn't feel. _Jim and his moods ..._ He sighed and flipped the communicator open. "McCoy to _Enterprise_." When there was still no response, he threw his old friend an uneasy glance. "What the devil's going on up there?"

"I can't answer that, Bones," Kirk replied softly. "But I do know one thing. If Spock hasn't alerted us yet, it's definitely trouble."


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

Chapel staggered back to her feet, feeling as though her stomach would never be still again. She tried to focus on the Science station but her head was pounding again, the same place she had injured in the turbolift. She swallowed against the bile in the back of her throat and looked around the Bridge quickly.

Part of the reason she had so much difficulty seeing was the lighting. Or lack of it. The main source of light right now was coming from the angry glow of the red alert and it bathed the entire deck in ugly bloody shadows.

Quite miraculously, Sulu and Chekov were still in their seats. They looked bruised, battered and shaken and the dim lighting made their faces appear washed out and grey-sheened but they were alert and focused on their consoles and the viewscreen. Chapel's gaze swept on.

On the opposite side of the room, she could see Rivers staggering back to his feet. He looked a little punch-drunk but he couldn't have been too disoriented because he was limping back to his station in a straight line - mostly. As she watched, he eased himself down into his seat with a wince of pain, and began swiftly calibrating his computer. He seemed to know what he was doing.

The nurse turned swiftly as she heard a groan from behind her and saw Uhura slowly hauling herself into her seat, her right hand gripping her left ribcage tightly. Chapel was quickly at her side and pushed the slim, dark fingers away, checking how bad the injuries were.

"I can't find any breaks," Chapel whispered. "They might be cracked, they're definitely bruised."

"I'm okay, Chris," Uhura whispered back.

The Communications Officer wasn't okay but there was very little Chapel could do for her right now. She returned to her station, noticing as she did so that Richards was lying on the floor at the base of the Environmental console, which seemed to be leaking even more gas than before. He was slowly easing himself up to his feet, however. From this distance, and in this lighting, she couldn't tell how badly injured he was, so she raced to his side. "Hey," she whispered. "You hurt anywhere?"

"Everywhere," he groaned with a feeble grin. "But I'll live."

She explored his form critically. He probably would, she decided - as long as he hadn't inhaled too much radiation. "Looks like Environmental is the cursed station of the day," she muttered.

"There's always one," he admitted, sagging into the seat and checking the console. "You better get back to Science."

She threw him another look. He looked like death warmed up and a sheen of sweat beaded his forehead. "Take it easy, stay sitting down unless you have no choice," she told him.

"Easier said than done," he managed to joke and she threw him her best bedside-manner smile before turning away to scan the Bridge for the missing First Officer.

He was slumped between the command chair and Engineering, she realised, and hurried over to check him. The last thing they needed was for the commanding officer to be out of commission. However, even as she knelt down next to him, he was struggling to rise into a sitting position.

He looked very dazed and there was green blood staining his neck. Without thinking, she did exactly what she had done with Uhura and Richards - she reached out and checked the injuries. Then she remembered exactly who he was, the telepathic complications, where they were currently located, and jerked back.

Too late. He was sitting bolt upright and staring at her with a clear, focused stare, the disorientation apparently vanished. "Minor to moderate injuries, everyone can function, sir," she swiftly rose to her feet, falling back under the comforting blanket of professionalism.

He pushed himself to his feet, looking steady and alert. "Do not abandon your station, Ensign," he ordered quietly.

"Mr Spock," she found herself adding, as she hurried back to her station. "There's a nebula not far from here. It's dense and it's large but it's stable. It'll affect our sensors - but it'll also affect the Romulan sensors as well."

_You can't help yourself, can you Christine?_ she reproached herself silently. _You've always got to find a way to get the last word with your superior officer, haven't you? McCoy, M'Benga, now Spock - you'll get run out of the 'Fleet at this rate!_

Sure enough, he was staring impassively at her. However, when he spoke, she wasn't the one he addressed. "Location of the Romulans, Mr Sulu?"

"Behind us, Mr Spock," Sulu sounded delighted. "Chasing. They're matching our velocity."

Spock turned to give Sulu a speculative stare. "Mr Sulu, while I am quite certain the evasive tactic you employed has saved this entire ship, I must request you try not to repeat it in future."

"Aye sir!" A wild grin spread across the helmsman's face, as if the only thing in the universe he wanted right now was to be given the chance to pull a stunt like that again.

"They will call it the Sulu Manoeuvre!" Chekov exclaimed. "It will become required reading at the Academy - and you will be insufferable!"

"Could be worse," Sulu retorted slyly. "I could have been Russian - and then _you_ would have been insufferable!"

A laugh rippled threw the command crew, more relief than amusement - relief that somehow, despite being outnumbered and outgunned, they were still alive and... even if they were limping instead of kicking, they were, nevertheless, _alive_.

Spock sat down in the command chair, feeling a little shaky. He was almost as relieved as the Humans but unlike them, he made sure it didn't show. He had a pounding headache from where he had bounced off the rails during the ship's escape - and that was a sensation he was most unaccustomed to. He was also feeling slightly nauseous. Most of the pain had been pushed down and thrust away, courtesy of Miss Chapel. It was quite odd that - she was psi-null but the impact something as simple as her touch had on his health was not unlike that of a Vulcan Healer. It wasn't something he fully understood but as long as it meant he could continue to function now he would not question it either. The Bridge couldn't afford to lose another hand and most certainly not its commanding officer.

"Ensign Richards, the status of the Environmental station, please." The Vulcan suddenly noticed that the console was venting more gas than it had been previously.

"A little good news, sir." Richards replied. "The radiation leak has almost completely stopped and the EPS circuit is patched. The gas venting right now is hestasine and I'm afraid we're going to end up with a kirinamide leak fairly soon as well. Fortunately, both gases are completely harmless. It might get a little smoky in here for a while but it won't hurt us."

Chapel scowled, the word 'hestasine' ringing a bell. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could vaguely remember hearing something about that gas, and it wasn't something good. The memory was on the tip of her tongue when Uhura interrupted her train of thought with a startled gasp.

"Mr Spock, the patch worked. The two Romulan ships are in communication. I'm putting it through the ship's translators now."

"On audio, Lieutenant," Spock replied.

As the voices of the two Romulan commanders filtered into Main Bridge, everyone found themselves pausing to listen to what was being said. The chance to find out what their enemy was thinking, what they were doing inside Federation space at all, was too irresistible to ignore.

_"--on a Human ship. It was unexpected. Velak, this changes things."_ the slightly concerned voice was familiar - it belonged to the Romulan who had hailed them only a few short moments before.

_"Why should it?"_ the second voice, was deeper, more confident. Whatever the concerns of the first Romulan, this Commander Velak did not share them. _"It's a Federation ship, Tevik, no matter what species commands it. Vulcans are easier to predict than Humans. He will obey the laws of Surak. "_

As it became clear what the Romulans were discussing, all eyes automatically gravitated towards the centre of the Bridge. The topic of conversation was listening quietly, one eyebrow in his hairline.

_"Velak, do you even know the laws of Surak?"_ Tevik sounded mildly incredulous.

_"Every decision is determined by logic."_

_"Yes, that's what everyone thinks. It's a bit more complicated than that."_

For a moment, Uhura was certain she saw the ghost of a smile flitter across Spock's lips. She stared at him in silence, wondering if she had imagined the expression. Then she considered the possibility that she had _not_ imagined it and found herself wondering what exactly the reaction might mean if that was so.

_"Is it? Exactly what business do _you _have knowing these laws, Tevik?"_

Tevik sighed wearily. _"The teachings of Vrinlak will answer your question, Velak. 'There are three things the wise man knows: his past, so he may know himself; his friends, so he may know himself; and his enemies, so he may know himself.' Vulcans are one of the founding races of the Federation, Velak, and - like it or not - they _are _our past. Understanding their motivations makes us stronger. Is that not so?"_

_"They are motivated by logic. This Vulcan commander has only two logical decisions available to him. Retreat or surrender._" Velak was beginning to sound impatient. _"He has refused surrender and he is in retreat. His decision has been made and he is behaving exactly as we know a Vulcan would - in the name of Surak, he will try to save every life on board his ship. I therefore do not understand why you are so convinced this starship is a threat to us."_

Tevik sighed again. _"Did you know one of these laws of Surak is as follows? 'As far as possible, do not kill. Can you return life to what you kill? Then be slow to take life.'"_

_"Then my point is proven, Tevik. The Vulcan's precious concern for life makes him weak."_

_"Do you really think two thousand years of pacifist philosophy can wipe out the fact that Vulcans evolved for violence and aggression?"_ Tevik was sounding truly frustrated now. _"Velak, what you fail to understand, what I'm trying to explain, is this: Surak, himself, left a loophole for his followers. He told them to avoid violence and embrace peace - but he did not say 'never kill', he merely said, try not to."_

This time, Uhura was convinced she wasn't seeing things. It wasn't a smile by any Human standard - his lips had barely moved. But by Vulcan standards...

By Vulcan standards, Spock may as well have been _grinning_.

_"You are saying that this Vulcan's instinct is to stand his ground and fight us but he needs to find a logical reason before he can do so?"_

_"Yes!"_ Tevik sounded relieved that his fellow commander had finally got the point.

_"Is there a logical reason for him to stand his ground?"_

_"I do not know of one. But that does not mean a logical reason does not exist."_

_"You are suggesting his retreat is a deception? I thought Vulcans cannot lie."_

_"They _do not _lie, Velak. That suggests to me that they lie when they want to. In fact, would it not be the most successful deception of all to convince the entire galaxy that your species cannot lie?"_

_"You know, Tevik, I don't think I ever appreciated just how paranoid you are until today. We will destroy this Vulcan and his ship then we will return to the dilithium planet to complete our mission. Is that clear?"_

_"I still think--"_

_"Is that clear, Commander Tevik?"_

_"It is."_ Tevik sounded resigned.

_"Good, Velak out."_

The Main Bridge fell completely silent. The only sounds were those of the hissing Environmental station and Uhura's nails as she manipulated her console.

"I think that you scared the Romulans, Mr Spock," Sulu smirked at last.

The First Officer didn't answer. At some point while they were listening to the hacked conversation, his fingers had slowly steepled in front of his face and his gaze had drifted towards the viewscreen. Amongst the stars were two birds-of-prey, unable to get closer but neither were they falling behind. They were again in a stalemate but eventually the balance would shift in favour of the Romulans - for the heading the three ships were currently on would take them directly into Klingon territory.

That was not a favourable option.

The discussion about Surak had been absolutely fascinating. It hinted at much about Romulans and their views on history. It suggested not all Romulans were opposed to learning about Surak, even if the reasons for that learning were militant and ... quite logical. Spock viewed that revelation with no small sense of irony. Romulans had moved on from ancient Vulcan's violent past. They had not embraced logic but they had not ignored it either.

Commander Velak had been quite correct, however. Spock _had_ realised his only logical options for survival were to retreat or surrender. In fact, he had regarded his only logical option to be retreat, for he was not convinced they would survive in any worthwhile capacity if they surrendered.

At the time, he had been playing for time, trying to find an alternative strategy that would not mean abandoning this sector of space - the planet, those miners, the landing party, Captain Kirk - to the Romulans. He had not appreciated the possibility of returning to Starfleet having been unable to stop the Romulans. In that sense, therefore, Commander Tevik had been correct - Spock _was_ trying to find a logical alternative.

Suddenly realising Sulu had spoken, he transferred his gaze from the viewscreen to the helmsman, who was eyeing him curiously. "It was not my intent at the time," he admitted honestly.

Sulu chuckled but Rivers sighed heavily. "It is true though, what they said, Mr Spock," he said gravely. "We _are_ retreating, aren't we?"

One of Spock's eyebrows rose sharply and he rounded on the Lieutenant. "Mr Rivers, do you have any logical reason to die?"

The engineer stared at him in astonishment. "No, Mr Spock, I do not!"

The Vulcan leaned forward slightly. "Do you have any logical reason to live?"

"I can think of a logical reason the size of a mining colony, sir!" Rivers really _was _determined to not be intimidated by Spock, Chapel realised in fascination. Almost everyone on board the ship was easily cowed by the Vulcan but Rivers had clearly decided at some point that he wouldn't be part of that crowd. He hadn't succeeded yet but she had to give him credit for tenacity. "Not to mention the landing party - which includes Captain Kirk!" He took a deep breath, then ploughed onwards. "_And_ we need to stay alive long enough to report to Starfleet about the Romulans. They won't know there are two birds-of-prey out here - when we sent a message, we only knew about one," he was glaring now. "Are those reasons logical enough for you, Commander?"

Sulu had turned, a grim look on his face as his eyes focused on the Lieutenant. Chapel could see his intent. He was second-in-command of the Bridge after Spock, and the behaviour Rivers was displaying bordered on insubordination.

But he didn't get a chance to reprimand the engineer, for Spock was turning back to face the viewscreen. "They are, Lieutenant," the Vulcan said calmly and his tone was surprisingly light.

Clearly caught off-balance by the reaction, Rivers stared at the back of the First Officer's head as if he didn't quite know what to make of the Vulcan and his lack of concern regarding the engineer's belligerent attitude.

Sulu, however, thought he had worked out what Spock was up to. "Those Romulans were right, weren't they? You _were_ concerned your only logical option was to retreat, weren't you?"

"Yes." Spock said simply.

"And that conversation we overheard - they said something that's now given you a logical reason to stop retreating, haven't they?"

The Vulcan's expression was almost - _almost_ - smug. "Yes."

"Are we talking suicide run or do we stand a chance of living through whatever you've got planned?" Sulu was beginning to smile. He was fairly certain he knew what Spock's response would be.

The First Officer didn't disappoint. "As Mr Rivers so eloquently pointed out, Mr Sulu, there is no logical reason for us to die today."

Sulu turned back to the helm, grinning broadly. "Your orders, sir?"

"Miss Chapel has discovered a fascinating nebula that lies within our vicinity," the Vulcan replied blandly. He glanced in her direction, a relaxed twinkle in his gaze that she hadn't seen since Platonius. "Your orders, Mr Sulu, are to take us there."

_Watch out universe,_ the nurse understood the gleam in his eyes and found herself grinning almost as widely as Sulu.

Spock was a man with a mission. And his missions were rarely dull.


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

The cloud of dust that Nurse Chapel had identified as a possible reprieve was what physicists termed a 'dark nebula'. From a distance, it was visually unimpressive, a dark cloud in space that absorbed almost all light, reflecting back only a dull red that morosely echoed the bloody tones currently highlighting the Bridge of the _Enterprise._

There was quiet on the Bridge as Spock held a quick conversation with Scott in Engineering regarding the state of the engines. The news, they realised, was not good. The ship had taken quite a battering, and Sulu's last piloting miracle had stressed the nacelle bracings' almost beyond tolerance - the Chief Engineer's, if not the warp drive itself.

There was a good chance that if they survived this battle with the Romulans, Mr Sulu would _not_ survive the ensuing fight with Mr Scott.

A quick report from Doctor M'Benga in Sickbay had confirmed that Medical was currently overwhelmed with injuries from most decks. Main Bridge wasn't the only part of the ship struggling with manpower and expertise. All key areas were now stretched to their absolute limit.

It was discouraging news. There had been no indication from the hacked conversation whether the Romulans were in a similar state. The two commanders were clearly harried and concerned but that did not mean their ships were fairing as badly as, or worse than, the _Enterprise._

Quietly, Spock rose from his seat and paced slowly, deliberately, to the front of the Bridge, pausing between Sulu and Chekov. It took him a moment to speak and, even when he began, his gaze remained fixed on the viewscreen.

"When we enter the nebula, the Romulans will almost certainly assume we intend to use it for some strategic purpose," he informed the Bridge quietly. "We therefore cannot expect them to blindly enter behind us." He turned deftly on his heel, gaze searching for, and finding, the lieutenant that manned the Engineering Station. "Mr Rivers, I will require sensor ghosts. These ghosts will appear to exit the nebula at a different trajectory to the one by which we entered. The Romulans _must_ be made to believe we are attempting to use the nebula to circle behind them with the intention of regaining a heading that will take us back to Starfleet Headquarters. Co-ordinate with Mr Chekov to set up the correct navigation routes for the sensor ghost. It will need to be convincing."

"Aye sir."

Spock heard it in stereo from both Rivers and Chekov even as he turned to Sulu. "You will need to position the ship within the outskirts of the nebula, at the location in which the sensor ghost appears to exit the nebula. We need to be able to exit the nebula _behind_ the Romulans when they move to intercept."

"I'm going to need precision calculations, Mr Spock," Sulu replied. "That won't be easy with the nebula obscuring our sensors."

"Indeed, Mr Sulu," the First Officer agreed. "Which is why you will need to co-ordinate with Miss Chapel," he glanced at the nurse who was blinking at him. "The nebula will not allow us to accurately monitor the birds-of-prey, so we must extrapolate based on their current velocity and the distances they have chosen to maintain away from us. Mr Sulu's ability to ambush the Romulans will depend upon the accuracy of your calculations."

"Yes, Mr Spock," she said quietly. This couldn't be any worse than trying to calculate the correct dose of medicines that could potentially kill the patients they were attempting to cure.

Could it?

Spock turned to study Ensign Richards, and the smoking station at which he was sitting. He was the only one not paying obvious attention to what his commanding officer was saying - he was busily trying to bring the broken console under his control. "Mr Richards," he said - despite the young engineer's apparent distraction, he was confident he was not being ignored. "It is problematic enough to have limited sensory capability outside the ship, please ensure we are not similarly impaired within the ship. Those vents need to be sealed."

"Aye sir!" the engineer's response was shot back with the emphatic impact of someone who agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment and was currently doing his very best to achieve exactly that.

Spock nodded. He did not have Kirk's flair for inspirational speeches. In fact, he considered them to be quite illogical. However, he had learned - the hard way - that Humans needed encouragement to remain focused and efficient while under stress. He did not have to understand this fact to know that it existed.

Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at this part of command.

"Once we enter the nebula, our time will have run out," he concluded. "You have until then to complete these tasks. Your service records indicate it is well within the capabilities of you all to do so."

There were a few stares before everyone turned back to get on with their jobs. He could see the aborted grin on Sulu's face and observed that Chekov was biting his lip - hard. As he moved across the Bridge towards Uhura's station, he was convinced that Chapel's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter but he could not see her face to be certain. He couldn't tell what the attitudes of the two engineers were at all - they both seemed too absorbed in their stations to have reacted. Given what he could see, however, he decided to revise his assessment of his abilities.

He _really_ wasn't good at this part of command.

"It's alright, Mr Spock," Uhura whispered to him when he stopped beside her. She was smiling. "Nobody's perfect - not even a Vulcan."

A flicker of wry acceptance passed quickly through his eyes before being replaced by a expression she had rarely seen before. He looked utterly serious ... and perhaps concerned.

"Lieutenant," he said, his voice as soft as hers had been. "I require you to be especially vigilant with regards to all local environmental and subspace noise."

She stared at him. _When aren't I?_ she wondered privately, before suddenly realising this routine request had been made privately, in a manner that prevented anyone else on the Bridge overhearing his words. "You want me to try and track the two Romulans communications with each other, in case they cloak?" She turned that over in her mind. It was a valid concern that any one of them would consider. That couldn't be the reason he wanted this conversation kept private, surely?

For a moment, he paused before responding, once again analysing the certainty of the logic behind his suspicions. Evidence was lacking which made his supposition much weaker than any Vulcan would ever be comfortable acknowledging. He should say nothing at all. He could be wrong.

But he couldn't risk the consequences of silence, should he be right. After a brief struggle between the perfection demanded by Vulcan logic and the urgency of Human survival instinct, he had found a compromise he could live with: to conspire with the one person in the room who might be able to prove - or disprove - his theory.

"Yes," he said at last. "But I need you to ascertain, if you can, how many ships are involved in such communication."

"How man--" Uhura stopped. She stared at Spock. Spock stared right back at her. "You think there are more than two birds-of-prey out here?"

"I am ... _concerned_ there may be a third," the Vulcan admitted, his voice barely audible.

Her eyes narrowed. She could sense his hesitancy and she knew how much he hated saying anything without good evidence to back up his claims. His unease now had to mean he was speaking out before he had comfortably accepted the logic involved and, for Spock, that was practically acting on gut instinct - something he normally considered too illogical to respect. It emphasised to her just how concerned about this possibility the First Officer really was. She gave him a determined grin. "If he's out there, Mr Spock, I'll find him," she whispered fiercely and turned back to her console.

Spock nodded, appreciating that she had not questioned why he was indulging such shaky logic and returned to the command chair.

Now all he could do, was wait.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

There was an inky blackness surrounding them that they hadn't experienced since a giant alien had destroyed the USS _Intrepid_. Sometimes, they would catch a glimpse of something twinkling weakly in the distance, but for the most, there was nothing - just the sense of being alone and isolated. The only living creatures in the entire galaxy.

Christine Chapel wasn't paying attention. She was squinting into her computer, desperately trying to guess - _estimate, Christine, you're estimating _- where the Romulans were likely to be now that they were sensor-blind.

Her shoulders were aching from bending over the science console. How long had she been on the Bridge since this whole thing had started? Half an hour? One hour? More? The waiting had been worst - when they had thought they only had a single opponent to worry about and the two ships had sat in the silence of space, watching to see who was willing to make the next move. Aside from that, she was fairly certain the moments of actual combat had probably only lasted for minutes.

It _felt_ like days.

The nurse chewed her lip as she studied her figures. The Romulans appeared to be creatures of habit. Once they had chosen the distance they wished to keep from the _Enterprise_ they had stuck rigidly to it. Was that military training or some ancient Vulcanoid instinct? She had noticed similar behaviour in Spock over the years. Habit and routine were mantras he thrived on, and she had never quite been certain whether that had been due to the rigid disciplines of logic he had been indoctrinated with, or whether it had been an in-built characteristic of Vulcan psychology.

The Romulans seemed to have a similar reliance on routine and it made her think that perhaps it wasn't military training or logical discipline at all. Maybe it _was_ something more ingrained, something Vulcanoid, something neither race could escape no matter which world they lived on and which philosophies they adopted.

It meant the Romulan positions outside the nebula would be easy to predict and had been easy to calculate. She should really give the co-ordinates to Sulu. It was past time. She could feel the helmsman giving her impatient looks. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chekov looking in her direction now. Something told her that the navigator was on the verge of asking the First Officer if he should replace her.

Something changed in the air around her and she lifted her head to stare at Spock, just as he was opening his mouth to address her. "Mr Spock, if you were commanding the Romulan ships right now, what would be the most efficient intercept speed you would choose?"

Spock stared at her. For a moment, his eyes looked quite impatient, then he blinked once and the expression vanished. "Warp 5, two minute burst," he replied with only a short hesitation. "Miss Chapel, do you have the co-ordinates?"

"I do now," she replied, correcting her calculations to account for the Romulans having to change speed to successfully intercept the sensor ghost. Quickly, she communicated her findings to Sulu and Chekov's stations. She looked up from her computer again to find Spock already moving across the Bridge towards Engineering. "Mr Rivers, as soon as Mr Sulu is ready, activate the sensor ghost."

"Aye sir," was the tense reply.

Chapel glanced at the viewscreen as Sulu settled the ship into position then returned her attention to the computer. The screen couldn't show the nearby existence of the stars but they were close enough to the edge of the nebula for the long-range sensors to be working, albeit poorly. However, it did mean that if the Romulans were paying close attention, or even just lucky, they might well detect the location of the real _Enterprise_ lurking just within the dust cloud.

Spock was taking a risk with this plan.

"Ready, Mr Rivers," Sulu announced and a moment later, Rivers had responded with "Sensor ghost activated."

Chapel swallowed and looked down, setting the sensors that were working to as wide a coverage as possible, boosting their gain to absolute maximum, and hoped the co-ordinates would be right.

The sensors stirred. She blinked, then refocused the computer to capture the disturbance. Slowly it solidified into a ship, one of the configuration of the _Enterprise_, sweeping out of the nebula just below their position, making a determined break for freedom, and for home. "Detecting sensor ghost. It's got the _Enterprise_'s sensors fooled!" Chapel announced.

From across the other side of the room, Rivers grinned smugly. Sensor ghosts were not easy to deliberately create, especially ones that could fool several ships at once. Considering the time in which he had available to do it, the ghost was almost a work of art.

She watched the computer quietly counting down the time between the release of the ghost and the estimated time of arrival for the intercepting birds-of-prey. Spock must have been keeping track of the time as well because just as the computer reached zero, he was on his feet. "Now, Mr Sulu," he ordered firmly.

The _Enterprise_ swept out of the nebula into clear space, the stars exploding into life all across the viewscreen and with absolutely no hint of any Romulan bird-of-prey in front of them.

"Oh no," Sulu said softly, staring at the screen, while Chapel frantically checked the science sensors for evidence of a ship she may not have detected. Either her calculations had been completely wrong or the Romulans hadn't taken the bait. Unfortunately, they were still too close to the nebula and the sensors seemed to be detecting ghosts everywhere.

The ship suddenly rocked slightly, as if caught in a wake. From out of nowhere, a bird-of-prey swept into view - from right over their heads, and so close they could actually see the detail of every single feather of the hull's painted war-eagle.

"My God," Chekov breathed in shock, and no small amount of awe. He had never been so close to a bird-of-prey before. None of them had. Chapel's calculations had been almost too perfect - it was a miracle the two ships hadn't collided.

"Mr Sulu, fire photon torpedoes," Spock ordered tersely, the only one not visibly shaken by the near-disaster they had just avoided. Chekov refocused and Sulu grimly opened fire.

The Romulan ship was already attempting to turn around, the near-collision having alerted them to the _Enterprise_'s real location. But the speed at which they had been travelling didn't give them a very efficient turning circle. In a slow graceful arc, the bird-of-prey was turning _into_ the Federation ship's weapons fire before she could raise her shields or bring her own weapons to bear.

The _Enterprise_ held its position for as long as it could, inflicting as much damage as possible before Spock finally ordered Sulu to take evasive actions.

Sweeping high, the bird-of-prey unleashed the full force of its plasma weapon on the _Enterprise_ which, despite Sulu's brilliant reflexes, the ship could not escape in time. The ship rocked and the hull screamed at the impact of the blast along its port side. Even as they tumbled from the blow, Rivers was yelling out that shields had been severely weakened and Spock was ordering Sulu to fire again.

Despite the bucking _Enterprise_'s inability to target properly, the two ships were so close, the odds of Sulu missing were low enough for the Vulcan to consider the risk worth taking. Sulu hit the bird-of-prey squarely, and the helmsman was forced to use every skill he possessed to evade the ensuing explosion.

The _Enterprise_ charged through the nebula, ducking underneath the cloud, still shaking from the impact of the bird-of-prey's destruction and burst back out into clear space.

Almost on top of the second bird-of-prey.

"_Helm - hard about_!" No-one on the Bridge had ever before heard Spock yell like that. Even with both his and Sulu's impressive reflexes combined, the two ships reeled, the Romulans clearly caught just as off-guard as the Federation ship. "Fire phasers _now_!" the Vulcan gasped as they careered away from each other.

Although not as powerful as the photon torpedoes, Spock chose the phasers because at this close range, the impact damage of the torpedoes would also have damaged the _Enterprise_. Even so, the ship shuddered with recoil as the phasers hit their target.

The bird-of-prey quaked in response but was already in a better position than they were. "It's discharging energy!" Chapel exclaimed, seeing the science computer light up with warning - she was getting used to that particular energy signature. They were too close to escape the plasma weapon. All Sulu could do was turn the ship to present as small a profile as they could, and pray the shields could withstand the rest.

The _Enterprise_ was beginning to list. "Shields down to 14 per cent" Rivers grated, as Spock scrambled back to his feet to locate the Romulans.

"You can't take another one like that, Mr Spock!" Scott yelled through the comm panel. "We have coolant leaks in the warp room and the left nacelle's losing plasma. Finish it or get us out of here!"

"Understood," Spock responded tightly. He didn't say anymore, the bird-of-prey was racing in for the kill. "Which is the weaker side of their ship? Dorsal or ventral?" he demanded.

"Dorsal!" Rivers and Chapel both confirmed at the same time.

Spock sucked in a deep breath. "Evasive manoeuvres, Mr Sulu," he said. "Take us _over_ her if you can. Target all weapons."

The strain was beginning to show on the helmsman's face as he pushed the ship into a hard charge for the Romulans, sweeping upwards just as the plasma weapon fired. The Romulans missed, but only just - and Sulu fired both the photon torpedoes and phasers with abandon as they flew over the back of her.

Smoking, battered, the two ships danced around each other in an dizzying spiral, the _Enterprise_ maintaining just enough distance to keep the plasma weapon at bay. The Federation weapons were not especially effective at this range either but at least they were putting pressure on the Romulan shields and wearing them down.

The Romulans broke free of the dance first, charging headlong into the nebula, the _Enterprise_ so close in pursuit that there was no time to prevent themselves from swallowed up by the dust cloud either.

"All stop!" Spock ordered.

After the past several minutes of chaos, the sudden silence was overwhelming. For a moment, no-one moved or spoke, catching their breath, trying to take stock of their situation. Even the Vulcan paused to reorganise his thoughts.

"How do we find them now, Mr Spock?" Richards had been having a bad time over at Environmental. Between trying to monitor the life support systems on the ship and keeping the console working at all, he was looking bloodied, battered and bruised. They all were, but Richards, who had spent half the battle with his head inside the belly of his station trying to patch up the broken conduits, looked like he had just survived a knife fight.

Spock was silent. He looked at the crackling viewscreen with something very close to confusion on his face and the Human crew suddenly realised why.

"You'll just have to take your best shot, Mr Spock," Sulu said at once. "There's no way to know for sure."

Spock continued to stare at the viewscreen. He had to _guess_. No logic, no reasoning, no evidence. Even his suspicions about a third ship were based on _some_ evidence, some logical reasoning. Something that wasn't so much a guess as a potentially premature decision but this... this was pure guesswork.

How did one weigh up the unweighable?

"Mr Spock!" Sulu said incredulously, clearly seeing why the Vulcan had frozen but not quite believing the reason for it.

"Up!" Chapel exclaimed suddenly. "They went up!" She suddenly found herself the centre of attention but right now she didn't care. She was convinced she was right. "They think like predators. We're not the enemy to them, we're _prey_. They'll come out of the nebula at the top, so they can swoop down on us from a height!"

Spock stared at her. "That is not a logical conclusion, Miss Chapel!"

"It's as logical as you'll get, Mr Spock!" she retorted. " Think about it. Their ships are called birds-of-prey. They've got a giant bird painted on the underside. You don't go to that much effort on a paint-job if you don't want anyone to _see_ it. And think about the imagery they've chosen - eagles soar. They swoop down on their prey from above. Why evoke the imagery if you don't see a value in it?"

"I think she's right, Mr Spock," Rivers joined in. "Don't the old reports on the battles during the Earth-Romulan war mention a lot of fights taking place with the Romulans firing onto the Earth ships from above? Also, the birds-of-prey are better protected on the underside, which makes sense if they're designed to attack from above."

"It's psychology, sir," Chapel finished. "It's about letting your enemy know he's too small, too helpless, to do anything but watch his death drop out of the sky. It's not a logical choice, it's an emotional one. And, psychologically speaking, an effective one!"

Spock's eyes flickered between the pair. It was possible, he realised. Although Romulans were related to Vulcans, they _had_ rejected the logical disciplines. It was entirely possible that Humans could predict Romulans better than a Vulcan could, precisely because Humans and Romulans both shared the same emotional considerations. Emotional considerations he had spent a lifetime trying to suppress.

_The logical decision is to choose the emotional solution? _Spock shook his head in defeat and then immediately realised how it had been interpreted when he heard two protesting exclamations of "Mr Spock!" His gaze fixed on Sulu. "Take us up, Mr Sulu. With alacrity!"

"Aye sir!" Sulu had the ship moving almost before Spock had finished speaking.

A logical decision to surrender to emotion. He thought back to his disastrous first command, the Galileo shuttle mission. He had done the same thing then - made a logical decision to act emotionally. It had worked that time and he wondered if this time would be so successful. Further, he wondered that if it did work, would that mean he was beginning to set a trend for himself? A trend where he _could_ find a logical reason for using emotions?

Had he not been a Vulcan, the idea would have been terrifying. Because he _was _a Vulcan, the idea was preposterous.

And, just as he decided that, the _Enterprise_ sailed out of the nebula - right into her quarry's wake.

The Romulans saw them first but had to turn in order to fire at them. The _Enterprise _crew threw everything into their first volley. They really had no choice. By the time the Romulans had fully turned, the _Enterprise_ needed to be in retreat - they could not afford to be hit by the plasma weapon again.

It very nearly didn't work.

One last volley by the _Enterprise_ saw the final demise of the second bird-of-prey - but not before it managed to get one final shot off and the _Enterprise_ was unable to fully escape the plasma discharge before it dissipated.

For a while, no-one spoke as they all stared at the spot where the second bird-of-prey had been, as if expecting it to be a trick and that the ship had merely cloaked without them noticing. As the moments ticked by, however, and there was no sign of the ship, it finally began to sink in.

They'd actually won.

Sulu whooped and Chekov swatted him in delight. Near the turbolift, Rivers pumped the air in silent victory, while Chapel slumped into her seat in relief. She'd done it. She'd manned Science Station on the Bridge, during combat, and hadn't gotten anyone killed. She found herself grinning as she scanned the Bridge. Richards wasn't celebrating - he was too busy muttering over the state of Environmental, and she had to look twice when she thought the smoke at the base of the console was starting to turn orange.

Yes, it was definitely turning orange.

Then the smile faded off her face. Neither the Communications Officer nor the First Officer were celebrating either. They didn't even look relieved. Spock was standing beside his chair, staring straight into Uhura's face, one eyebrow raised. Chapel knew that look, it was a look of expectation, it was a look Spock often reserved for Doctor McCoy when he was steeling himself for a sparring match.

And Uhura's face? The nurse turned to look, and noticed how pale that dark skin was, bloodless. One finger was pressed to her earpiece and she was nodding slowly, as if the Vulcan had somehow telepathically communicated a question to her.

Chapel swallowed as she realised it could only mean one thing.

It wasn't over yet.

"Where?" Spock's voice was very quiet but there was a hint of something, an undercurrent, that brought every single person in the room to attention.

"I don't know, Mr Spock," her fingers were flying over her console. "There were two transmissions, no responses, _after_ we destroyed the two ships. There's so much static - I'm sure it originated from very close to the nebula. That would explain the interference."

Feeling sick, Chapel turned back to her computer. There was another bird-of-prey out there, one that was probably cloaked and no-one would be able to tell exactly where it was until it fired. As she set her computer to scan around the nebula, she heard Spock asking Rivers what the shield strength was.

_4 per cent is not good,_ she thought as she stared at her scans. There probably wasn't much point in concentrating on the nebula itself, she decided. The sensors wouldn't pick anything up, nor would the Romulans have been able to send any transmissions themselves. The ship was probably beside the nebula in some fashion.

There had to be some way to find the ship before it fired, surely?

She could hear Spock sit down in the big chair but she didn't look up, she could hear him order Chekov to plot several alternative escape routes. The chance of them being able to survive a third, probably undamaged, ship in their current condition was very low, and they all knew it. There was a pause, a moment of brief silence, then she heard him speak again - asking Richards what the orange smoke beginning to form at the base of the console was. She barely heard the engineer respond that it was nothing to worry about, an inert, and therefore harmless, gas.

She scowled. There it was again, that nagging feeling there was something important that she had forgotten. The orange gas was kirisine, she suddenly remembered. Histasine formed kirisine when mixed with kirinamide - that was what she had been trying to recall earlier. It was the thought of kirisine that was sending a chill down her spine now - but whether it was something biochemical or something medical, she couldn't remember. She wished she had the time to investigate why it was bothering her so much.

On the subject of something medical, however... She frowned at the nebula. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. She wasn't an engineer or a physicist to know about all the principles behind cloaking devices and how to detect them. She was a medical researcher and a nurse. She spent every single day working in an environment where the causes, the enemy targets, were invisible little monsters that had to be located before they could be destroyed. Usually, the only way to do that, was to trace back the destruction - follow the symptoms, trace the toxins, dig a path that led to the door.

If the bird-of-prey was so close to a large cloud of dust that its ability to send transmissions was affected, maybe it was close enough to disturb that dust in other ways? Quickly, she changed the focus of her scans, and began to investigate the appearance and nature of the nebula itself.

Her whoop of delight made the entire Bridge turn to stare at her. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, transferring her image of the nebula to the screen. "There, at the top of the nebula - do you see that ripple?"

"Computer, magnify." Spock ordered, and the nebula suddenly exploded in size, making the image that much clearer.

"It looks like a breeze atop the water." Chekov said at last.

"Wind in space, Mr Chekov?" Spock threw Chapel a quick look. He appeared to be impressed - in his own reserved Vulcan way. "Aim above that disturbance and fire - target all weapons. Be ready to reverse engines if necessary. We cannot afford to be hit by another plasma discharge."

"Aye sir," Sulu's eyes narrowed and with careful focus, he began to fire.

They saw it immediately, the way their weapons created a pattern of light, energy dancing across something solid yet unseen. In a strange, uncomfortable way, the light show was actually quite beautiful to witness.

A moment later, the bird-of-prey had decloaked and was trying to reverse away from the onslaught it had attracted. Cautiously, the _Enterprise_, followed, not willing to give up its advantage, not willing to get too close. One single strike, and it would be all over for the Federation crew. They were literally playing with fire.

"Mr Spock, the Romulan vessel is hailing us!" Uhura exclaimed suddenly.

"Mr Sulu, keep us out of range of their weapon and cease firing." Spock said thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Uhura, open hailing frequencies."

The battered, smoking Bridge of the Romulan vessel looked almost as sorry as their own Bridge and Chapel was very surprised to see the same Romulan commander they had spoken with previously ... Commander Tevik, if she remember the illicitly overheard conversation correctly.

He looked battered as well, as he peered curiously at Spock. "For a devotee of logic and peace, Vulcan, you're quite the warrior," the Commander said after a moment.

Spock arched an eyebrow and decided not to answer that. "It is, I believe, my turn to offer you the chance to surrender, Commander," he replied instead.

Tevik smiled faintly. "No, I see no more logic in surrendering than you did."

"There is no logic to be gained by fighting us further," Spock argued. "We have already destroyed the other two ships." It wasn't exactly a lie, the Vulcan reflected. After all, from Tevik's point of view, the _Enterprise_ must have seemed unstoppable. He just needed to make sure Tevik had no idea how close to defeat the Federation ship really was.

"Yes, I noticed." The Romulan actually smiled. It was an odd smile - a little respectful, a little angry, maybe even a little wistful. It was not a smile that made any sense.

"You did not come to their defence?" despite the situation, the Vulcan found himself pausing. "Why?"

"Your sensor ghost was quite clever," Tevik told him. "My compatriots did not realise - or believe, I think - but I have excellent engineers of my own. We thought you were trying to hide your real exit point, so travelled to the opposite side of the nebula to your ghost." He grinned wryly. "I did not expect you to exit behind your ghost, where you could have been so easily detected before you made your move. It seemed rather an illogical risk for a Vulcan to take."

Spock studied him, unsure of whether he was completely comfortable with being told - by a Romulan, of all people - that his logic may have been a bit uncertain during this combat. He also noticed it wasn't really an answer to his question. "If you do not intend to surrender, why did you hail us?"

"Curiosity," the Romulan admitted. "I find myself wondering what possible logic you could have had to engage in a fight with such unbalanced odds."

"I find it interesting that a Romulan would care about a Vulcan's logic," Spock replied.

"Ah, evasion! You are also quite the politician, Vulcan," Tevik smiled. "No matter. This conflict is at an end, you may congratulate yourself on your victory. I believe the correct phrase is 'Live long and prosper', is it not?" And he raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute.

Spock wasn't the only person on the Bridge who stared at that gesture. "Peace and long life, Commander," he said quietly. He couldn't let the Romulan return back to the Neutral Zone like nothing had happened. He knew that. He was fairly certain the Romulan did as well.

He just wasn't quite sure what game was being played right now.

Tevik smiled, perhaps a little sadly. "Inapplicable. But thank you anyway."

The viewscreen suddenly returned to the image of the bird-of-prey framed by the ugly reddish nebula behind it.

"The Romulan vessel closed communication channel, Mr Spock. Shall I get them back?"

Before Spock could respond, Sulu had stiffened. "Mr Spock, she's moving away. Shall I follow?"

"Yes," Spock said thoughtfully. He was still trying to understand the brief conversation. The Romulan's interest in Vulcan had seemed genuine, as had his fascination with logic and Surak. The question Spock couldn't answer, was why. Was it a military strategy, as Tevik had claimed to Commander Velak, or was there some other reason, something more profound?

His eyes widened as a sudden thought struck him. Outsiders did not know it but Vulcan had its fair share of dissidents, of Vulcans who did not support, or practice, the teachings of Surak - who rejected logic. Vulcan by culture, they were essentially Romulan in heart. Was it possible that Romulus had the reverse problem? Those who were Romulan by culture and Vulcan in heart?

It seemed like a fantastical notion.

But what if it was true? And what if Tevik was one such Romulan... what would he call him? A dissident? A 'revolutionary', as such were termed on Vulcan? Or perhaps, would it be fair to call them 'traditionalists' - trying to reach out to a culture their ancestors had rejected?

If he had been speaking these words to the Romulan, what would _he_ have meant by them?

And, suddenly, he knew.

"Mr Sulu, full reverse, now! Shields at maximum!"

"Mr Spock?"

"_Now_, Mr Sulu!"

Sulu didn't question him twice. The Lieutenant Commander threw the ship into full reverse, and the ship groaned in protest at the demands being placed on her overstretched, overworked body.

"Shields are at max, Mr Spock, but they're only at 4 per cent," Rivers said quietly.

Spock didn't respond. There was a bright glow from the viewscreen as the Romulan ship exploded, a tidal wave of energy rolling out in all directions, rocking the _Enterprise_ as if she was an old sailing ship being battered by the high seas. Although she seemed to escape any further damage, there was a painful groan from underneath the Environmental console that suggested Ensign Richards had not been so lucky.

"Mr Spock, did they just self-destruct?" Uhura asked softly.

"Yes, they did," the First Officer responded quietly.

"But why? They could have fought us, they could have tried to get home. We wouldn't have been able to stop them in this condition."

"Maybe their Praetor hates failure," Sulu suggested. "Remember that fight two years ago? They self-destructed too."

"They were beaten, Mr Sulu," she disagreed. "They would never have made it home, and they knew it. They died to avoid being taken captive. I don't think that could possibly be the case here."

"It was not," Spock said softly, heading over to check on Richards' health. The engineer was gingerly pulling himself out from underneath his station.

"What do you think the reason was, Mr Spock?" Chekov asked curiously.

Spock looked up briefly at the navigator. "It was the logical thing to do, Mr Chekov."

The Russian looked momentarily stunned. "I don't understand, sir."

"I do not fully understand myself, Ensign," the First Officer admitted. "However, I am quite certain that whatever his full motive may have been, he _believed_ his decision was the only logical solution."

"He wasn't a Vulcan, Mr Spock." Rivers said doubtfully. "I don't think you can explain away his decision logically."

"I am quite well aware of the fact he was not a Vulcan, Mr Rivers," the look Spock shot the engineer was dark. "It was a fact of which the Romulan Commander himself was also aware."

"Is that important?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. I think that it was." Clearly having no desire to explain that enigmatic remark, the Vulcan turned away to investigate the state of Ensign Richards and the damaged Environmental Station.

"I'm alright, sir," Richards pushed himself to his feet and slumped into his chair. "Is the fight over now?"

"I admit that I anticipated the possibility of three ships," Spock said. He turned to glance pensively at the viewscreen. "I have no reason to suspect there may be any more."

"Oh good," the Ensign looked relieved.

"Did you get that console fixed at all, or did you make things worse?" Sulu asked with a grin, as Spock directed Chekov to lay in a course for Beta Koris 2 and turned off the red alert klaxon.

The Ensign only just managed to avoid glaring at his superior officer - and even only then, because the helmsman threw him a cheeky wink to show he was teasing.

"Miss Chapel, the status of Lieutenant Peters, please," Spock said. There was a surprisingly ragged edge to his voice that made the nurse stare at him for a moment. Admittedly, every single person on the Bridge was looking the worse for wear but she had been almost certain that a few minutes ago the Vulcan had not looked quite so haggard.

_Adrenaline must be wearing off,_ she mused. Only the gods knew how much she was beginning to notice her aches and pains. "Checking now, Mr Spock," she said, moving away from the science console to officially behave like the nurse she was again. Eventually, she shook her head. "No real change in his condition, Mr Spock," she replied, regaining her feet and turning around. "He's still stable but given the fact he's been in a coma all this time, I can't say that's an encouraging sign. And I still don't know how much radiation he inhaled."

Spock nodded wearily and paged Engineering.

"Are you through torturing my engines, Mr Spock!" was the first thing Scott snapped.

"Please calm yourself, Mr Scott," Spock replied. "The fight is over. I require an update on the state of turbolift 1."

"Well, it's no simple matter I'm afraid. We have to reattach the turbolift safely and restore power to the entire shaft. It could be a good few hours yet."

Chapel was shaking her head at Spock, to indicate that wasn't medically acceptable - not for Peters.

"Well, Mr Scott, I have a nurse on my Bridge who is dissatisfied by that assessment."

"Aye, and I'll apologise to her face when I see her but the lift's taken a lot of damage and so has the shaft. It's a tight fit working in there, Mr Spock, you're going to have to be patient for a while yet."

"Lieutenant Peters doesn't have time for patience, he's been in a coma for an hour already!" Chapel burst out at the comm.

"I cannot change the laws of physics, nurse." Scott said sympathetically.

"And I cannot change the laws of biology, Mr Scott," she shot back.

"Nurse Chapel," Spock said firmly. "That will be all."

She gritted her teeth together and tried to remind herself that Scott was a good man, he would do his best, and he _was_ her superior officer. _Great,_ she realised darkly. _Add another officer to the list I regularly berate._

Spock was staring hard at her, and she realised she had defiance written all over her face. She cleared her throat and had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, Mr Spock, Mr Scott."

"It's alright, Miss Chapel, we're all under a lot of strain right now," Scott's voice came back. "I've got some of my best lads working on that turbolift, we'll get Lieutenant Peters to Sickbay, you can be sure of that." His attention returned to Spock. "We'll need to stay in orbit around Beta Koris 2 for a few days at the very least. And even then, we may have to spend a few weeks at a starbase," he paused, then added in a grim tone. "But we'll make it into dock under our own steam, Mr Spock, you mark my words."

"I have no doubt of that, Mr Scott. Spock out." Spock released the comm panel and sagged down into his seat.

Chapel stared at him. He had _sagged_ into the seat? "Mr Spock," she said. "Are you injured?"

He looked up sharply. "I am quite well, Nurse," and, as if to prove his point, he pushed himself back to his feet, walking over to stand at the helm. It was something Captain Kirk often did but this time, Chapel couldn't help feeling Spock was trying to put as much distance between himself and her as he could manage without causing suspicion.

Except, she was suspicious. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She was aware that he had taken a head injury earlier. Several of them had, but none of them had been behaving as if they had been suffering from concussion. She knew concussion symptoms could be delayed. Was that the case here?

Would concussion explain why the Vulcan's breathing seemed unusually laboured?

This time, said Vulcan nearly glared at her, and she realised she was hovering. Quickly, she retreated to the science station. First, she would check the library computers to find out why the hestasine gas was bothering her so much, and then she would give everyone a thorough examination - as thorough as she could manage on the Bridge anyway.

It didn't take her long to find information on hestasine and kirinamide - two fairly inert gases that were used in some of the older starships as sealants, to protect live circuitry from chemical contamination. It had been fairly routine until a few years previously when they began replacing them with other inert and noble gases. The only other thing it mentioned was that the two gases, when mixed together, formed an orange compound called kirisine. All three gases were harmless.

She stared at it. Exactly what Richards had said, but she wasn't convinced. She really did have a bad feeling about this gas. She thought for a moment, then tied the science computer into the medical library, and searched there for the gases. It stood to reason that since her specialisations' were within the fields of medicine and research that maybe that was where she could find the answers she sought.

"Do you think they'll give us our shore leave now?" Sulu was asking as they carefully piloted the damaged ship back towards the Beta Koris system.

"I think we will spend it in the brig," Chekov responded morosely, as he watched both Rivers and Spock join Richards to take a look at the spitting, hissing, environmental station.

"You think they won't be pleased we stopped the Romulans from plundering Beta Koris 2?"

"No, I think Captain Kirk will be furious about the state of this ship,"

"Oh." Sulu thought about that for a moment. "Good point." He grinned. "Well, we'll just have to blame Mr Spock, for that," he winked at Chekov. "He _was_ the offic--"

"Spock!" Chapel gasped in a strangled whisper that effectively cut off all conversation on the Bridge. It was not the sound you ever wanted to hear a person make. It was the sound of someone who had just been confronted by the end of the world. She backed away from the science station, looking around the deck, her gaze coming to rest on the three men around the broken console. "Mr Spock, get away from there!" she yelled.

What happened next was almost like some kind of slow-motion action replay. The three men at Environmental looked up in surprise at the nurse's shout. She almost hurdled the rails in her effort to make it across the length of the Bridge in the shortest possible time. But even as the men raised their heads, the console spat out a new cloud of orange gas - straight into their faces.

They backed off, coughing as the thick substance momentarily blocked their throats and noses. Richards hacked and Rivers sneezed violently. Even Spock gagged at the unexpected jettison.

"It's okay," Richards choked, waving the fog away. "It's only kirisine - it's not pleasant, but it's completely harmless."

"You're wrong!" Chapel exclaimed, reaching their sides. It was too late already, she could see that at once. Spock's eyes were closed, and he had sagged heavily against the railings. She grabbed him before he could fall but he was almost boneless and she couldn't manage his weight. "I need help here!" she snapped at the two startled men beside her. "Help me get him over to Uhura's station!"

Richards stared at her without responding, apparently dumbfounded by his commanding officer's sudden collapse.

"Kirisine--" Spock began, but he could barely talk. His breathing was a heavy wheeze, as if his lungs had suddenly decided they weren't going to bother processing oxygen anymore.

In a way, Chapel knew, that was exactly what had just happened. "Shut up, Mr Spock. Concentrate on breathing!" she snapped at him. "Richards, help!" She suddenly noticed that the Ensign's mind was currently in a different sector of space, and turned pleading eyes on Rivers. "Grab his legs!"

Rivers nodded and did so immediately. Chapel felt someone grab his shoulders, taking the weight from her, and realised Sulu had taken over. His face looked stunned but his mind was functioning. Chapel hurried over to Uhura's station. "I need space here. He needs to be as far away from the kirisine as possible."

"Here!" Uhura moved away from the chair, kicking the fallen fire suppressant hoses out of the way, so that Spock could be laid on the floor between her station and the turbolift.

By the time they laid Spock out on the floor, he was unconscious. There was a terrible rattling sound deep within his chest as if something important had fallen loose and his face was a strange shade of greenish-brown that most of them had ever seen. Chapel had only seen it a few times before - every single time, Spock had been close to death.

"Get M'Benga on the comm, and tell him Spock's got kirisine poisoning," the nurse snapped, checking Spock's pulse and heart-rate, then tilting his head back to investigate his airways. "Then get Scott on the comm and tell him if he doesn't get that turbolift working within twenty minutes, Spock'll be dead! And get us back to Beta Koris 2!"

She was only a nurse and only an ensign, but she was also the only medically trained person on the Bridge - and the only one who seemed to understand what had just happened. No-one saw fit to pull rank or dissent. Uhura flew back to her comm panel, rigging an automatic hail for Beta Koris 2 to detect when they came back within range, then returned to the nurse and her patient. She had some official medical skills - even if she wasn't a trained nurse, it was possible she could be of some benefit to Chapel.

Except that the Vulcan wasn't breathing by himself any more - Chapel was breathing for him.

Rivers had marched straight over to the environmental console, nudged the stunned Richards out of the way, and gone to work on stopping the orange gas from venting any more of its fumes into the enclosed space. "Increase by warp factor 1," Sulu told Chekov tightly, who nodded in tight-lipped response and increased the speed of the ship to the fastest he could manage in a sector of space that was so close to a solar system.

Sulu hit the comm. "Bridge to Doctor M'Benga."

It took a moment for him to be addressed by a harried technician. "Ensign Mason, Bridge. Doctor M'Benga is a bit tied up. Will Doctor--"

"Ensign," Sulu said flatly. "Get M'Benga on the comm _now_!"

"Aye sir."

Sulu watched Chapel in anxious silence as the Ensign hurried off to obey. The nurse didn't seem to be trying to resuscitate the Vulcan, he noticed, but she was definitely breathing for him. _Not a heart attack then,_ the helmsman thought numbly. _Just his lungs._

"M'Benga here," came the tired, impatient voice at the other end. "What's wrong?"

"Doctor, Commander Sulu here. Spock's unconscious. Nurse Chapel is breathing for him. She says he has kirisine poisoning."

"_Kirisine_ poisoning?" The doctor sounded incredulous. "Is she certain?"

"Yes," Years spent working with a Vulcan had come in useful. Sulu knew how to keep his explanations brief. "A console vented hestasine and kirinamide at the same time. It turned into kirisine. Spock took a lungful."

He heard the doctor hiss, as if he wanted to rant but knew there wasn't time. Instead M'Benga began yelling orders out behind him. Sulu couldn't hear everything he said, but he heard enough to realise the ACMO was ordering a medical team to turbolift 1 immediately.

"The turbolift is still broken, Doctor," he said numbly.

"Then unbreak it, Commander!" M'Benga snapped. "Kirisine poisoning has a 100 per cent mortality rate in Vulcanoids. Not one victim has lasted beyond twenty-three minutes."

"There's no cure?" Sulu said in dismay.

"None." M'Benga replied harshly. "How long ago was he exposed?"

The helmsman looked at the chronometer. "Four minutes ago."

He could hear M'Benga hiss again. "Get Mr Scott himself working on that lift if you have to. Contact me when you've spoken to him. I'll need to speak to Christine. M'Benga out."

Sulu blinked and turned to the sight he didn't want to watch but found himself unable to tear his gaze from. "Nurse, Doctor M'Benga will need to speak to you when he comes back on comm."

"She's not exactly available right now, Mr Sulu!" Uhura protested, looking up from Spock's too-still body. Chapel did not look like she was in any position to respond and Sulu looked as though he had been kicked in the teeth by the thought that addressing her, passing on orders or information, might interfere with her fight to keep the Vulcan breathing.

"Are you qualified to perform assisted breathing?" Chapel gasped to Uhura, as she paused to check her patient's status.

"Yes, but I've never done it on a Vulcan before." The look her friend shot her was pleading. Uhura did not want to be called on as a replacement, no matter how temporarily. Not for this.

"I'll take you through it now, before the doctor gets back on the comm." In the face of the very real fear on Uhura's face, the nurse was relentless. She was not a doctor, she didn't have M'Benga's knowledge of Vulcan physiology, and using a middle-man might create miscommunication they could ill-afford. She _had_ to take M'Benga's message. That meant Uhura _had_ to help Spock.

The Lieutenant merely nodded in a resigned defeat that was quite unlike her usual self - but Spock didn't seem to be responding to a trained nurse. How could a trained first aider be any improvement?

"I don't need you to perform miracles, Nyota," Chapel said more softly, in what she hoped was a confidence-boosting tone. "Just do the work for him while I talk to Doctor M'Benga. That's all."

Uhura smiled weakly. "That's all," she agreed softly, watching Spock's horribly discoloured face. Not much. Just keep him alive. Never mind that every other Vulcan ever poisoned by kirisine had died. It was nothing, really.

She swallowed as Chapel rebuilt her previous rhythm, watching the pale face intently. She wasn't shouldering half the responsibility the nurse had right now. She was getting off lightly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sulu taking into the comm again, this time to Engineering.

"Scotty, you have _got_ to get that turbolift operational. Now!" Sulu's voice was a tone of controlled panic. He reflected that maybe they hadn't really understood Chapel's determination to get Lieutenant Peters back to Sickbay because the engineer was so still, almost peaceful. It was as if he had fallen asleep. But they had watched Spock deteriorate in front of their eyes - hale one second, at death's door the next.

It was the speed of his collapse that had shocked them.

Scott still didn't understand, it was clear from his voice. He sounded harried, exhausted. Part of the helmsman understood. The Chief Engineer had an entire ship to fix, and it was very likely that people may be trapped on other decks, perhaps in equally life-threatening conditions. "Look, lad, it can only take as long as it can take, I've got my best--"

"Scotty, Spock's suffered kirisine poisoning. M'Benga's got a medical team on the way to the lift but you've _got_ to get them to the Bridge."

"Kirisine? Kirisine's completely harm--" he stopped dead as if something had just occurred to him. "How long's he got?" he snapped.

"Twenty-three minutes." Sulu double-checked the chronometer, subtracting all the communication that had occurred since. "Make that eighteen minutes."

The Second Officer finally seemed to understand that it wasn't something that could wait. "Mr Sulu, that will be impossible - but I will get it done in under an hour if I break the laws of physics. Tell Nurse Chapel to break the laws of biology. Scott out."

_Some compromise,_ Sulu thought in disbelief and paged M'Benga, who responded immediately, voice impatient as he waited for Chapel. Sulu watched the transfer from nurse to communications officer with a pained wince. Chapel took the comm from Sulu, her face tense. She had always had a pale, creamy complexion but now she looked absolutely grey.

"Chapel here, Doctor. Mr Spock has no external symptoms of the poisoning, he's in respiratory distress and has an elevated heart-rate. I suspect his exposure occurred earlier than previously suspected: he was showing some signs of fatigue, dizziness and breathing difficulty for several minutes prior to the gas vent that knocked him out. Right now, Doctor, he doesn't seem to be developing the full symptoms of kirisine poisoning - if he was Human, we'd probably diagnose it as acute carbon monoxide poisoning."

She didn't pause for the ACMO to give her the go-head to summarise the situation. She rattled it off as quickly, as understandably, as she could, trying to keep her visit to the comm as short as possible.

"That's not normally how kirisine poisoning works, Nurse. Are you sure that's what we're dealing with?"

"Yes, Doctor. The engineers up here are certain it's kirisine that vented." Chapel took a deep breath. "Am I right in thinking there was a study into evidence that kirisine affects both the oxygen-uptake to the blood and the mitochondrial DNA of Vulcans?"

"Kirisine poisoning is poorly understood, it's too rare an occurrence - but they are current lines of research, yes," M'Benga said impatiently. "It's also irrelevant, there's no cure, Nurse, you need to understand that. Now, you have to listen carefully--"

"In full-blooded Vulcanoids, yes sir." Chapel interrupted him abruptly. "But there's never been a documented case of a half-Vulcanoid patient, has there? Humans have full immunity to kirisine--"

"Nurse!" M'Benga interrupted impatiently. "We don't have time for this!"

"Doctor! Mr Spock's mitochondrial DNA is probably at least 98 per cent Human!" Chapel snapped. "He might have some genetic defence against the poison!"

There was a strange sound at the other end of comm, as if M'Benga had begun to interrupt her but aborted the attempt as soon as he realised what she was saying. "My God, yes," he breathed. "It's mostly inherited from the mother in both Vulcans and Humans. Paternal inheritance is equally rare in both species," he cleared his throat. "Alright, Nurse, it's possible he might not suffer the full-blown effects but the fact is that Mr Spock's respiratory system _is_ mostly Vulcan. If the damage is acute, it'll kill him. There may be some minor similarities to carbon monoxide poisoning in Humans but that's at all - it certainly cannot be treated the same way. Since you've had to assist his breathing, I'm assuming his respiratory system is severely compromised. Now you really need to listen carefully to what I'm about to say."

Chapel took a deep breath and nodded, even though the ACMO couldn't see her gesture. She had made her point - that Spock's hybrid physiology might be the lifeline they needed and that no-one should be giving up on the First Officer just yet.

_Then what, Christine?_ her mind whispered. _Even in Sickbay, they can't do anything for him. There's no treatment._

She slammed the brakes down on that line of thought. It was unproductive. She wasn't going to give up on the Vulcan - and she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else give up on him either. "I'm listening, Doctor," she informed him.

"Good, now there might be something in what you're saying because the Vulcans who survived the longest were the ones who resisted their instincts to interfere with the spread of the poison through their bodies. If Spock is to stand any chance at all, you have got to keep him from entering a healing trance. Keep him alert and conscious. You have my full authority to do anything you deem medically necessary to keep him awake. And, nurse, whatever you do, do _not_ rely on any promises he makes to avoid a healing trance. Injured Vulcans cannot always control the urge to enter one. It's as instinctive for them as the need to sleep is for us. And the more tired you are..."

"... the greater the urge to sleep," Chapel whispered softly, understanding.

"Precisely," M'Benga confirmed. "He may not even know he's slipping into one until it's too late, so you have to watch out for the signs yourself. You know what to look for?"

"Yes, Doctor." She had seen Spock enter healing trances enough times to know how to distinguish them from sleep or unconsciousness. She bit her lip, wondering just how on earth she was going to keep him conscious, given how incapable of reaction a Vulcan in a healing trance could be. "I'd better get back to him then, sir, he's already unconscious."

"Go," he agreed at once, and resumed his conversation with Sulu as she hurried back to Spock and Uhura.

The Lieutenant looked up in relief as the nurse took over again but immediately panicked when she saw her friend frown. "What is it?" she demanded.

"There's some colour in his cheeks," was the muttered response. She bent low to the Vulcan's chest, then checked his mouth to see if she could feel any air moving. There was... something. It was so faint, though, that she wasn't certain it was really there or wishful thinking. "Alright," she whispered. "Come on, Mr Spock."

She breathed for him a few more times, then checked him again, this time convinced that she was not imagining the barely perceptible puff of air that escaped his lungs. "Mr Spock!" her voice was sharp with irritation and frustration. "What's the good of constantly claiming Vulcans are superior to Humans if you're going to rely on _me_ to do all the work for you?"

To her intense surprise, he drew in one ragged breath, followed by another, then another - until he was breathing by himself again. Harshly, but regularly.

_"Shonal k'yai t'eshikh - vesht gla-tor sa-veh masutra eh vesht kup fai-tor rok."_

The words were barely a whisper, barely able to escape his overstrained airways but it was enough to snap her attention back into focus, back to his face, back to the realisation that she was staring into his eyes.

And that he was staring back.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

There was a pinprick of light in the darkness. The dusky red tones of the false dawn, He lay sprawled on the rocky slopes of _Okunel t'Rihtun_, waiting for the true dawn to come, unable to completely hide the small shiver of excitement deep within his gut. This was not meditation, not the Vulcan way, but it didn't matter to him. His father would not understand but it did not matter to him. His mother would understand and that ... for once, that _did_ matter to him.

He listened to the wind whispering his name, as he waited for the dawn to come. It was illogical - but his ancestors would have understood. His ancestors would have done this too, sat on the earth, in this very spot, waiting for the sun to rise.

He wondered what stories the rocks could tell him about the past, what secrets they had witnessed that his people had forgotten. Or turned their backs on.

He sat up as the sun began to rise, watching the red haze slowly part the darkness like a spreading stain. Slowly, the first contours took definition amongst the peaks of Gol's mountain range, gradually blurring into an indistinct mass. As the haze brightened into a true red, that indistinct mass gradually began to take on a coherent shape, the ball of fire rising into the sky, straining for the very heights of the heavens. It engulfed his vision, and blinded him to everything but it's terrible red beauty.

_Red?_

The Vulcan sun was not red.

He blinked, suddenly realising he was staring not at the Vulcan sun but at the red alert klaxon flashing angrily on the wall above his head. And he was not lying on the rocky slopes of _Okunel t'Rihtun_, he was lying on his back, in the middle of the Bridge.

How had he come to be in this position? He tried to rise but failed, his head falling back to the hard floor. The world was suddenly spinning before his eyes, and he realised his lungs were struggling for air. Now why would that be? What had happened?

Why was there an intolerable pressure weighing down on his chest, preventing him from drawing breath?

Forcing his eyes open once more, he lifted his head more cautiously this time. There was a dark mass lying across his body, he realised suddenly, pinning him to the ground and crushing him.

_Fascinating,_ he thought. _The command chair is supposed to be fastened too securely for this to happen._

Nevertheless, the facts of the matter were clear and he suddenly remembered the Romulan ship that had decloaked from its perch atop the nebula, the orange fireball that had been spat from its belly as if it were a dragon in some ancient Earth fairytale. The ship had barely survived the blast - it should not have survived at all.

If he had been inclined to believe in miracles, _this_ would be a miracle.

He had to get out from under this chair.

Straining every muscle in his body, he heaved against the weight but only succeeded in collapsing back against the floor, vision swimming. He was panting for breath, his lungs were burning.

This ... this was a problem. If he did not get the chair off his chest, he would die, he was certain of it. He tried to push his mind into gear, reaching into himself for that core of reason and control, to find the thread that would allow him to focus - to think logically of a solution to his dilemma. But the thread, if it existed, eluded him.

Frustration welled up from his stomach like bile. Frustration and ... fear.

He pursed his lips in a thin hard line but could not maintain the expression. His lungs demanded more air than breathing through his nose allowed, and he found himself gasping again for oxygen.

Suddenly, he found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes. It was fascinating, he realised, that he had never before realised just how like the oceans of Earth they were. There was nothing of that shade on Vulcan. The bodies of water on his home planet reflected back the shades of orange and red of the Vulcan sky. Oceans there were never blue.

They were on Earth. The oceans of Earth drew him like a magnet - he had never understood it, he had merely accepted it and ignored it. For many years, he had suspected it was something he had inherited off his mother, something Human. But his father had made a tiny slip once, that sometimes made Spock wonder. They had been staying at the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco, on Earth, and the Ambassador had been standing at the windows on the highest floor of the building, hands behind his back, staring at nothing.

_Spock tries not to disturb him, uncertain if his father is meditating, even as his young brain registers it is not a meditative posture. He creeps across to the window to stare out, trying to spot what has interested his father, and finds himself confronted by San Francisco Bay. The ocean that sweeps away from the land, reflecting the sky in every way until the two merge at the horizon and became one._

_"It is blue," he says. He has never seen Earth's oceans before, and he has not been practising the mental disciplines for long enough to hide his wonder. "Like Mother's eyes."_

_"Yes," his father whispers, as if he had not truly meant to speak at all._

_"It is ..." he pauses, searching for the right word, the word that would convey what he feels in a way his father would not object to. "... fascinating."_

_"Yes." _

_It's the same tone. This time Spock risks looking up to study his father's face. He doesn't do that more than is necessary. Sarek's dispassionate face is often intimidating._

_This time ... it is not._

_Suddenly the mask is back, the eyebrow lifting, the dark eyes gazing sternly into his own. "You should be performing _tu-lan_, Spahkh," he orders rather than observes Just like that, the moment shatters, and Spock knows it will never be reclaimed._

It was the brown hair, he decided. It brought out the blue in a way the blonde hair never had. And then he reflected that it was quite illogical to be analysing the colour of her eyes when he was suffocating to death underneath his own command chair.

"It's alright, Mr Spock," she told him calmly. "I can help." She took in his laboured breathing then stared at the command chair, before returning her gaze back to him. "I _will_ help," she corrected, without apology for the amendment.

He could feel her determination even though they were not in physical proximity. He wasn't certain what fascinated him the most - the raw strength of that determination or the fact he could feel it without touching her. He merely nodded and watched as she put her shoulder into the command chair and began to try and lift it off his chest.

She wasn't making much headway, he realised after a few minutes passed with nothing to show for her effort. Then, suddenly, Uhura was there, looking on anxiously, and he was surprised to find she was easy to telepathically read as the nurse.

She was terrified - for him. She was convinced he was going to die. She was desperate to believe Nurse Chapel could save the day but she didn't know if her belief was enough. She was also convinced that she could do nothing to help, although she desperately wanted to. He studied the Communications Officer's face curiously. Was he really in that much trouble?

One thing was certain - Lieutenant Uhura seemed to think he was.

Interesting. His gaze returned to Chapel, wondering at the nurse's lack of fear. She had been in love with him for years. He had noticed that she had always possessed a certain fear for him whenever he had found himself in Sickbay, battling overwhelming odds, alien conditions, and even more mundane, but no less serious, injuries. However, her fear had never overwhelmed her conviction that he could recover.

Of course, she had barely touched him since Platonius - even in Sickbay - so he wasn't certain what she felt anymore. Not until now, anyway. And now, he didn't feel any fear. He wondered why. Lack of caring? Or was she so convinced he could be saved that she saw no need for fear?

The questions were draining him and he was forgetting to concentrate on breathing. He returned his attention to the nurse but suddenly realised she had vanished. It was Uhura who was trying to push the chair off him instead.

He lifted his head as much as he could but sank back quickly, unable to maintain his position, feeling an overwhelming need to pass out.

He almost frowned. He was the First Officer of the USS _Enterprise _and he was on the Bridge. He would _not_ pass out.

But he _was _beginning to panic. It was most un-Vulcan but he couldn't seem to help himself. It wasn't the chair that was worrying him, it was the absence of the nurse. Had she given up? Had she remembered she had been avoiding touching him ever since Platonius and left his salvation up to Uhura? Not that he objected to the Lieutenant's heroic efforts to get rid of that crushing weight on his chest, but she was so convinced she couldn't move it that he really wasn't confident she could do it either.

On the other hand, the Lieutenant _had_ shifted the chair's weight very slightly. Or was it his overwhelming need to get up and find out where the nurse had gone that had moved it?

He didn't know - but it was an interesting puzzle.

Suddenly, to his intense relief, _she_ was back, and taking over from Uhura. The lieutenant backed off, almost as relieved as he was that the nurse was back in charge. Good, he decided, once more picking up Chapel's determination and focus. Maybe now they could get him out from underneath this chair.

As if sensing his thoughts, Chapel stopped pushing and turned to stare at him. "Come on, Mr Spock," she ordered, and he felt a wave of frustration, determination and ... hope? ... flood through him. It all came from her and he almost frowned. What did she think he could do from this position?

The he realised that the chair had moved just enough for him to finally get his hands underneath it. He took a deep breath, almost choking with the effort, and grimly pushed the discomfort away. The nurse was right, all he needed to do was focus, and ...

Nothing happened. He blinked, then realised he just didn't have the strength. He opened his mouth to tell her but she was glaring at him, her irritation burning him like a naked flame.

"Mr Spock! What's the good of constantly claiming Vulcans are superior to Humans if you're going to rely on _me_ to do all the work for you?"

He stared at her. That was uncalled for, he decided ungraciously, feeling his own irritation surge to meet hers. He grabbed it like it was the thread he had been hunting for and pushed it before him like a battering ram, aiming it at the besieged command chair. With a supreme effort, he watched the infernal thing roll off him and away.

He was giddy, weak, exhausted but the painful weight on his lungs had eased. For a moment he felt irrationally smug about that. Until he looked at her again, and saw the mixture of anger and triumph that shimmered through her blue eyes like sunlight reflecting off a waterfall.

That gaze really did look like the water in San Francisco Bay, he decided. He wondered if that was what the ancient poet, Styrel, had meant in his most infamous epic, '_Fire and Water_'. How had he described it? Oh yes, "Engulfed by desert flame, he saw the ocean and knew hope."

He blinked as he heard his thoughts echo. Had he just...? But no, that could not be. He would not quote _that_ poem out loud. And most certainly not on the Bridge. He was certain of it.

He stared at her. She stared back.

Wasn't he?


	16. Chapter 16

**Part 16**

"Mr Spock?" Nurse Chapel, who had been leaning over him, pulled back, studying the First Officer's face intently. His eyes didn't look at all focused and his every breath made her cringe.

His eyes drifted closed and she leaned forward again, alarmed that he was going to sink back into unconsciousness. Doctor M'Benga had made it clear she wasn't to allow such a thing to come to pass, even if she wasn't certain how she was going to achieve that. The only battle plan she currently had involved sheer willpower alone. Her eyes narrowed, she squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. If there was ever a time to prove the Vulcan was not the most stubborn person on board the _Enterprise_, it was now.

His eyes snapped open again, staring directly at her, and this time they were sharp, focused, alert. "Nurse ..." he began, his voice barely audible.

Her first reaction was relief that he was no longer trying to address her in Vulcan - a language she could not speak. A moment later, her professional training kicked in and she scowled. "Don't talk, Mr Spock, you're in respiratory distress. Don't make your lungs work any harder than they have to."

"Telepath ..." he continued, completely disregarding her order.

Chapel stared at him for a moment, baffled, until she realised what he was trying to say. She had one hand resting flat against his chest and the other against his forehead. _I must be bombarding him,_ she realised in horror, snatching her hands away from quickly. "I'm sorry, Mr Spock," she apologised quickly.

He swallowed once, nodded slightly and closed his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and Chapel saw Uhura flinch at the effort it clearly took him to manage something that he normally would not have had to think twice about doing.

"Mr Spock," Chapel leaned forward quickly, this time being careful not to touch him. "You have to stay awake. That's an order."

He opened his eyes again and she could see a hint of disapproval there. Enough to make him open his mouth. She scowled again. "Mr Spock, I was serious when I said you must not talk. Please, I'm the only person in the room with medical training, and I have to follow Doctor M'Benga's orders. It is your best chance for survival."

Chapel held his gaze with a firm one of her own. She had been his nurse for long enough to know that the only way to make him to obey medical orders was to be firm, direct and ignore the fact he outranked her. Most of the medical staff couldn't make him do anything he didn't want to do and even she often had to summon McCoy or M'Benga to back her up. However, in recent months, she had noticed there had been some kind of breakthrough - at least, from her point of view. After two years of open warfare, where she had refused to be intimidated by him, had been consistently supported by the CMO, ACMO - and even Captain where necessary - the First Officer seemed to have finally begun to accept the inevitable. It didn't mean she was assured of victory, by any stretch of the imagination, but it did mean she had a fighting chance of getting him to comply with medical demands.

It was more than the other nurses could manage.

He swallowed again. "Orders?" the rasp made her sigh and frown at him. He felt a slight surge of annoyance at that expression. He was unable to communicate in his usual efficient manner. Talking was painful, and he could feel himself struggling to hold on to his Vulcan discipline. So much of his energy was being concentrated on trying to suck up oxygen from an atmosphere that suddenly seemed to be as thick as treacle that he had little strength left for battling Vulcan emotion and primal instinct. The nurse was _not_ making his efforts any easier by treating him as a naughty school boy every time he opened his mouth.

He pursed his lips and gave her his best authoritative stare. It was a stare that he had learned off his father; with a single look he could reduce ensigns to nervous wrecks, make admirals falter and stop Klingons in their tracks. It was a stare that could make even Doctor McCoy and Captain Kirk back off and give him space. It was one of the most reliable weapons he had in his arsenal - it rarely failed.

It was failing right now.

In fact, not only did Nurse Chapel _not_ appear suitably cowed by his glare, she was glaring right back at him as if she felt she could intimidate _him_.

He found it ... disturbing.

"Doctor M'Benga said you must not attempt a healing trance at any stage," she explained, her tone as firm as her gaze. She knew exactly what he was doing and she was not going to tolerate it. Giving in to him now would not improve his chances for survival. "You've suffered kirisine poisoning ..." she trailed off as his eyes widened and she realised he understood exactly what kirisine poisoning was. "Mr Spock, I know the prognosis is poor in Vulcans but I need you to remember that Humans are completely immune to kirisine and you _are_ half-Human. That makes your odds at least 50 better than a full-blooded Vulcan ..."

His eyes closed and she could see him gather his strength.

"Oh no, Mr Spock, don't ..."

"Nurse ..." he ignored her order again, and also decided to ignore her sigh of frustration. "Your odds are not logically calculated."

"I don't care, Mr Spock!" Her voice was so angry that he blinked once in surprise. "You're half-Human, you are _not_ going to die from this!"

Spock didn't know if she came into physical contact with him deliberately or accidentally but, suddenly, he was flooded by such a strong determination to keep the promise she had just made that he almost lost what little breath was making it through his lungs. She was bursting with such a fierce will that to him, it appeared as if she might fly apart at the seams from the effort to contain it all. Except she wasn't containing it all - she was pouring it into him, and he did not have the strength to defend against it. His eyes squeezed tightly shut against the overwhelming flood of emotion and he knew the gasp that he heard came from him.

His flinch made her realise what was happening and she jerked her hand back as if she had touched hot coals. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to do that!"

He swallowed thickly, then nodded once. _This then,_ he realised silently, _must be what Humans call 'faith'. _It was rather unsettling to realise her faith didn't come from a belief in a higher power or in medicine and science, but from the belief that he was too stubborn to die.

She peered closely at him, seeing how shaken he was. Guilt and anger overwhelmed her then, and she looked down to double-check she wasn't in physical contact. He didn't need to feel that too. She had promised herself that she would never let him be overwhelmed by her emotions ever again. Not after what had happened on Platonius, and she wasn't about to break that promise now.

Although ...

Her head snapped back up to stare at him. It was a horrible, unconscionable thought. It was unworthy of her as a member of the healing profession and yet she already knew the power of it. She had been an unwilling cause of it on Platonius, it had worked earlier when he had been reeling from a head injury during the height of the Romulan attack, and more evidence had been offered just now.

With the exception of Platonius, however, every time it had happened had been an accident. Did she have the right to do it deliberately?

She studied his ashen face for a moment, watched his chest bravely battling for every breath of air. He had already held out longer than many Vulcans could manage. No treatment, just tenacity - a jolt of emotional electricity, that will to live. If a time came when he could no longer provide it for himself, would she be able to provide it for him?

Was this to be the legacy of the Platonians then? Her willingness to inflict her emotions on his psyche as a weapon? Could she do that to him?

She swallowed and felt a horrified thrill chase a cold tingle down her spine. The answer was too easy. She had made her promise to Doctor M'Benga: whatever it took. If this discomfort could keep him conscious, she would do it.

But not like this - not an accidental kaleidoscope that raced from her body to his as an uncontrollable torrent. She had to find a way to make it focused, useful. It needed to be an energy that healed, not harmed.

He was staring at her again and she realised she still hadn't explained the orders yet. Taking a deep breath, she threw him her best confident-nurse smile. "Doctor M'Benga told me I have to do everything in my power to keep you awake and conscious," she studied him intently for a moment and saw the question forming on his lips. Her previous guilt vanished in a storm of frustration that he was fighting her on the issue of talking. It was going to be very hard to keep him alive if he didn't cooperate with her. "Vulcans poisoned by kirisine died faster when they used a healing trance than when they didn't. Vulcan healing methods make the poison more effective, they don't cure it. You cannot use a healing trance. Do you understand?"

He nodded once. He did indeed understand, although it wasn't very logical. The healing trance was one of the most natural Vulcan treatments that existed. It could manage almost any injury. It could bring a Vulcan back from seemingly inescapable death. He had never heard of it being a culprit in exacerbating illnesses or in being a contributory factor to death. However, there was very little useful information on kirisine poisoning. Most Federation species were immune to kirisine, it had only been in recent years its existence had finally become acknowledged and diagnosed. Every single case had come from Rigelians or Vulcans that had been working with Starfleet technology. Both species had few members of their race that dealt with Starfleet technology in any aspect that would risk exposure to kirisine - it had therefore come as a complete shock to the entire Federation to find out such a harmless substance could be so devastating to certain species after all. Every victim had died so quickly, almost no medical intervention had been possible. Most of the existing knowledge on kirisine poisoning had therefore come from post-mortems.

She was glaring at him again. "I need a promise, Mr Spock, that you _won't_ try and use a healing trance."

The Vulcan blinked. "Nurse, I said I understood ..." he began roughly.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not good enough. I need to know you won't make any conscious attempt to slip into one without permission from either myself or Doctor M'Benga."

_Her_ permission? "Nurse Chapel ..."

"Mr Spock, nod if you agree, shake your head if you don't - but please stop talking."

"You have displayed insubordinate behaviour several times today, Nurse," he replied, feeling his irritation flaring yet again. It bothered him, this lack of control he currently had over his emotions, his disciplines. It told him more clearly than any medical report that his condition was very serious.

She sighed loudly in frustration. Why on earth could Spock never follow a single medical order? Even when his own life was on the line? "Mr Spock," she flared furiously. "You can run me out of Starfleet _after_ you've recovered but right now you're not medically fit for duty, you _can't_ order me around, and you _will_ promise me you won't try and use a healing trance to combat the kirisine! Is that understood, Commander?"

If he'd had the strength, his eyebrows would have been in his hairline. He didn't have the strength, however, so he merely stared. Who was this woman? And what had she done with Nurse Chapel?

"Mr Spock?" Uhura had been silent since he had regained consciousness, afraid to speak up in case she interfered with the nurse's efforts. But now she clearly felt that Chapel needed all the help she could get. "Miss Chapel hasn't made an illogical request, has she?"

Spock's gaze drifted from the irritated nurse to the communications officer. Uhura still looked worried for him but she didn't appear to be anywhere near as frightened as she had seemed earlier. Had he been delirious earlier? It was unsettlingly possible, he reflected. The command chair, for example, was in its correct position on the Bridge, and, as far as his unreliable vision could tell, Mr Sulu currently occupied it. Maybe Uhura had never been as afraid as he had initially thought - or maybe she was just hiding it better now.

He could not refute her question however. Was he being unacceptably illogical? He could not think of any good reason to fight the nurse over the issue of the healing trance but on some level the demand had ... disturbed him. It was as if she did not believe he would avoid a healing trance if he did not make that promise. Once upon a time, he had taken it for granted that she trusted him. Clearly he could no longer do that. Was Platonius to blame for that too? No, he realised, the Lieutenant was correct. The nurse was not being illogical. He shook his head in answer to the question.

"Well then, mister," she smiled, a shadow of her old, sassy self. "I'd say the logical thing to do would be to agree with her and maybe then she'll get off your case about it," she threw a wink at Chapel.

He could feel an odd sense of defeat welling inside him. It stemmed from his current train of thought. His frustration over things left unresolved, things left confused. Wishing Platonius had never occurred was illogical - wishes could not change what had happened. Vulcans had a saying for that. _Kaiidth_ - what is, is. Accept it, move on. It's the logical thing to do.

But since Platonius, he had not been feeling very logical. His gaze drifted from Uhura to Chapel. He should have addressed Platonius at the time, he should not have let it linger. He should not have been in this position, where he was lying on his back on the Bridge, his lungs contaminated by an incurable poison, relying only on a nurse who didn't trust him to follow her orders.

_Whom he didn't follow the orders of because he didn't trust her?_

No, that wasn't right. He realised it immediately. He trusted her. He had questioned that too many times this day. He _did_ trust her. So, why could he not relax and let her do her job, let her administer to his needs?

Unbidden, the memory of a bowl of soup defying gravity floated into his conscious mind. Uncontrollable rage, fierce indignation - even desperation. Throwing the nurse out of his quarters, along with the entire meal. Not caring who got hit, who got hurt, who saw ...

That part of him that was Human, even that part of him that was a sensible, logical modern Vulcan, pleaded with himself for the hope that this was not the reason. That he was not making her job difficult to do just because he possessed an irrational core within his soul that was pure male ego. Pure male _Vulcan_ ego. His status as an unbonded male was irrelevant. Her status as an unbonded female was irrelevant. She was Starfleet. He was Starfleet. She was a medical professional. He was a patient. She was doing the logical thing. She always had.

But.

It was that floating 'but' in the back of mind that told him that where Nurse Chapel was concerned his behaviour had never been very logical. So, Uhura's implied accusation was correct. It was undeniable. _He_ was being illogical about this. He always had been. _Kaiidth_. Accept it and move on.

Preferably _before_ he died.

He sighed heavily.

Immediately, he felt his chest tighten and he began to cough hoarsely. Oxygen seemed to have frozen solid within his lungs, choking his windpipe. He felt as if he was chewing air and could neither swallow it nor spit it out. The world was spinning sickeningly, and he was forced to close his eyes to prevent the nausea overwhelming him.

And then, quite suddenly, he felt his body begin to relax, his muscles settling without his permission, his lungs suddenly easing out of their cramp and finding rhythm once more. It was as if he had just been injected with a sedative, except this did not feel like a chemical relaxant. It felt ... it felt more ... it _felt_.

It was emotion?

The nurse had one cool hand curled around his wrist, but she wasn't checking his pulse. Her thumb was gently stroking the inner side of his hand, a slow, soothing rhythm that seemed to be tracing the beat his heart was supposed to be keeping. And, unexpectedly, he could feel his heart-rate coming down to match that tempo, his breathing settling into something that, while still laboured, was no longer suffocating.

He opened his eyes curiously and tried to focus on her face. The world was no longer spinning but there were spots dancing in front of his eyes, and shadows threatened at the edges of his vision. He could tell her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her face as relaxed as he had ever seen it. It was as if she had fallen asleep where she sat. He watched her silently. Her appearance was ... compelling. As illogical as it was, he concentrated on that and felt the dangerous shadows recede slightly.

Her eyes flew open to study his face, then she smiled faintly and placed his hand down, releasing her grip on him quickly. He knew it was because he typically did not tolerate physical contact but he nevertheless felt regret stir in response to the separation. As her fingers slipped away from his skin, he felt a last hint of something he suspected she had not wanted him to detect - excitement and triumph, a sense of achievement, almost a tiny victory celebration - and suddenly he realised the significance of what had just happened.

She had deliberately settled _herself_ into a state of calm in order to transmit the same sensation to him.

_Fascinating_, he thought. Only twenty-four hours previously, he had been reflecting on the fact that she was the one woman who had never attempted to use her emotions to manipulate him. On the other hand, how could he object to what had just happened, given the results she had achieved? Leila and Zarabeth had manipulated his emotions for their own personal gain. Nurse Chapel had done it to save his life. How could he object to that?

"A logical reason for using emotions, Nurse?" he mumbled, feeling his eyes droop shut again. Somewhere, from a great distance away, he could hear his heart-rate beeping like a computer countdown. To what, though, he couldn't remember.

"Stay awake, Mr Spock," she replied softly, and suddenly her hand was back on his again, her grip tightening painfully around his wrist.

He opened his eyes again. He no longer had the strength to fight her orders ... but he was beginning to realise he was losing the strength to obey them as well. "Communications," he whispered, suddenly recognising the beeping that was drifting on the edge of his hearing.

"Lieutenant Uhura!" Sulu's voice broke through his daze at exactly the same moment.

The Communications Officer gasped and scrambled to her feet, hurrying back to her post, and responding to the hail. "Beta Koris 2, this is the _Enterprise_! Come in Beta Koris 2!"

Chapel looked around the rest of the Bridge for the first time in what seemed like forever. How long ago had Spock been poisoned? How long ago since she had spoken to Doctor M'Benga? Sulu was in the command chair, having a discussion with Scott and M'Benga, which meant both men had to be at turbolift 1. However, she couldn't tell what the lift's status currently was. She could see Ensign Richards manning the Engineering station, apparently having regained his senses and his professionalism. From where she was crouched, she couldn't see Lieutenant Rivers, which meant he was either at Environmental or at Helm. Chekov was pulling double-duty between Navigation and Science, and, towards the front of the Bridge, she could see the motionless form of Lieutenant Peters. Unattended.

A surge of guilt swept through her. She had been so busy trying to keep Spock conscious and breathing that she hadn't checked on the comatose Lieutenant since ... when had she last checked? She couldn't remember, she realised in horror. He needed to be monitored too.

_"Go."_

It took her a moment to recognise Spock's voice, and she looked around sharply to glare at him. She had been hoping he had finally accepted that wasting his breath on talking was a foolish endeavour in his current state. Apparently, she had been wrong.

_"Consider me thoroughly chastised, Nurse. Now assess Lieutenant Peters' condition."_

She stared at his face. His eyes were closed, so her glare had been wasted on him and his lips had barely moved - except to twitch into the faintest ghost of a smile. His free hand had reached up to curl around the hand that gripped his wrist - something she had not even noticed until now. On the surface, it seemed like a strangely intimate gesture - but it made her realise what he was doing.

It was bizarre and unexpected. She had thought a Vulcan needed to create a mind meld in order to communicate telepathically. Apparently, she had been wrong.

_"Yes. Go."_

Having a touch telepath for a patient could potentially be very annoying, she suddenly decided. Especially one that thought he could still behave as First Officer of the USS _Enterprise_ while he was too sick to talk or stand.

She eyed him, then glanced towards Lieutenant Peters. On the viewscreen she could see Beta Koris 2 swelling in size as they approached the planet for a standard orbit. Right now, however, she needed to decide if she could make it over to Peters, check his current status, and return to Spock without the Vulcan using the opportunity to fall unconscious or enter a healing trance.

_"Miss Chapel, I have no intention of dying. Please do your job."_

She had been right. Having a touch telepath for a patient was _definitely_ annoying. She felt an odd sensation inside her mind. Almost a ripple of ... something she didn't have the words to describe. It felt like the softest caress, or even a gentle kiss. It took her a moment to realise it might have been the mental equivalent of a sigh. She suspected he had just realised that her mind kept up a running commentary on everything that was happening around her, even though she usually didn't vocalise most of it. If he had thought her insubordinate _before_ he had begun communicating telepathically with her, what would he think of her now?

_Guess it must be just as annoying to _be _the touch telepath_, she contemplated thoughtfully and felt that odd mental sigh again.

It definitely felt like a kiss, Chapel decided. And then she realised that he _really_ didn't need to know that particular thought, and she really didn't need him to know that particular thought either. Abruptly, the nurse placed his hand down, letting go of his wrist, and then realised his other hand was still tightly gripping hers. She hesitated, staring at it, then gently tugged. His hand did not let go. She eyed the Vulcan, wondering how on earth she was supposed to check Peters if he wasn't going to let go and suddenly his fingers flexed, as if he had only just realised what he was doing. He released her hand and she immediately rose to check on the injured engineer.

It didn't take Chapel long to confirm that Peters' condition was unchanged. By then, _Enterprise_ was in orbit and Sulu was talking to the planet's surface. As she returned to the back of the deck, and knelt down beside Spock, she had the impression that Kirk and McCoy would be beaming up immediately. Not that it particularly affected their situation currently. The turbolift still wasn't working. Medical help wasn't arriving yet.

The nurse frowned at Spock thoughtfully. She had not rushed her check-up of Peters but she had not lingered either. The Vulcan's breathing was much harsher than it had been when she had left him. The colour in his face was slipping towards that horrible greenish-brown shade again.

"Mr Spock?" she asked him softly. When he did not respond, she repeated his name more firmly, and then nudged him. "Oh, God," she groaned and this time gave him a firm shake. "Snap out of it, Mr Spock!"

"Nurse?"

It was Sulu's voice, she realised. He sounded worried, and she couldn't blame him. She wasn't making very encouraging noises. She also did _not _have time for explanations right now. In the time she had taken to double-check the health of Peters, Spock had started slipping into a healing trance. She could see the signs, and he was already deep enough to have switched off from external stimuli.

"Damn you, Mr Spock," she snapped, hoping he could feel the full force of her emotions battering him from the physical contact. "This is why I wanted you to promise not to do this!" She hauled back her hand and slapped him hard across the cheek, hating the very act of it but knowing she had no other choice. "C'mon, you. Stubborn. Pig-head. Vulcan. Sir!" She punctuated every single word with a fierce slap.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear someone yell out for her to stop and another voice yell for her continue. She tuned it all out and concentrated on the swiftly-fading Vulcan. The physical punishment she was inflicting did not seem to be working either. Her shoulders were aching, her hands stinging and he wasn't reacting at all. She didn't know what else to try.

His breathing stopped completely, and she froze, staring at him. A moment later, he drew in a ragged breath. There was a painful pause. Another ragged breath, shallower this time. Then another pause, an even longer one.

"Mr Spock!" She literally shook him this time. "What are you doing? You just got us through a battle with three Romulan ships! Three!" She smacked him hard, letting all her rage and frustration power that hit. "Those were insane odds! We could have run away - you made us stay and fight!" she hauled back to hit him again, harder. "You still haven't explained why! Was the Romulan right, Commander? Was your logic really that bad today?" She thumped him again, her frustration growing. He still wasn't responding. "Let me remind you of something, mister - you told us that there was no logical reason to die today, and that sure as hell includes you!" Again her punch left her body aching and his completely still. "Kirisine is not a logical reason to quit on us, Mr Spock! Just because you've got green-blood, pointy ears and a lousy sense of humour, doesn't mean you're not a member of the Human race! Mitochondrial DNA, Mr Science Officer! You're a genius - you work it out!"

She growled audibly and laid into him for one final punch but her fist connected with a solid, immovable wall. Shaking with the force of her own rage, hot tears of fury in her eyes, it took her a moment to realise that what had halted her desperate efforts was Spock himself. His brown eyes were fixed on hers, as dark a gaze as she had ever seen. His breathing was still heavy and ragged but the grip that held her fast was like steel.

"Nurse! Enough!" he whispered harshly, his voice reflecting her own rage.

"Is it, Mr Spock? Are you sure?" She snapped back. She was beyond caring whether she was thrown into the brig after this. She only had one goal: keep him alive long enough for Doctor M'Benga to reach him. Nothing else mattered.

He had nearly died this time.

"I _told_ you a healing trance was bad! No healing trance, Mr Spock, that's an order!"

His hand released hers and dropped back to his side. His eyes closed and she gripped his shirt, fingers involuntarily flexing into fists. "Don't you dare," she hissed, knowing her rage was crashing through his body like waves across a rocky beach. Knowing this. Counting on this. Determined to keep him so alive with emotion that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything except the need to fend off the illogic of her turmoil. It was the only medical treatment she had. "You're the First Officer of the best starship in the 'Fleet. You're on the Bridge, Mr Spock! What kind of image are you trying to send by quitting on the damn Bridge?!"

"Miss Chapel, have you quite finished?" his voice was almost a growl, but it was the growl that came from an effort to breathe against overwhelming odds. It was not a growl of anger.

"Are you going to do anything that illogical again?" she demanded.

"Nurse, your bedside manner has deteriorated significantly."

"The deterioration of my bedside manner is inversely proportional to the stupidity levels of my patients!"

He was silent. She glared furiously at him. "There's a _reason_ I wanted you to promise not to enter a healing trance!" Her anger was still surging through him but it seemed less tumultuous somehow, more focused. "Doctor M'Benga told me you might not notice entering one. He said it's instinct. You hate breaking promises, Mr Spock. I was hoping it would make you more alert!"

He closed his eyes again but this time, it was to avoid the force of her stare. Somehow, for some reason, he suddenly found himself quite unable to meet her eyes. He was almost certain it had something to do with the fact he had misunderstood her earlier demands - that she believed he would never willingly break a promise, rather than not trusting him to keep his word. And she was right, of course. He had not consciously tried to heal himself. In fact, the past several minutes were still something of a blur. He was confused, disoriented. He knew some of that had to do with the torrent of emotions that were flooding through him. He could barely think coherently against the force of her rage - and it was a powerful rage. The kind of power that came from a very real terror. For a moment, he realised, she had been convinced he would be lost, and that there was nothing she could do about it. For a moment, her rage had been driven by guilt. Guilt that she had left him for Peters, guilt that she had been doing her job by leaving him, guilt that she hadn't pushed him harder for that promise, guilt that she would have failed her bosses, herself and his friends if he had died.

"Are you going to do that again?" she asked him quietly.

"No," he muttered. He didn't have the strength to put himself through that kind of emotional chaos again. And he didn't want to put _her_ through that kind of emotional chaos again either.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Good," she slumped and for a moment, relief overwhelmed him - only some of which came from her. Then she pulled away from him completely and he felt strangely cold at the loss of connection. He forced his eyes to open and saw her quickly, discretely, wiping her eyes on the backs of her sleeves. He closed his eyes again. The least he could do for her was grant a measure of privacy so that she could regain control of herself.

Chapel cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She looked up to find every single member of the Bridge crew staring at her. "Oh God," she mumbled. She had not realised that her determined effort to bring the Vulcan out of the healing trance that was killing him would have been so aggressive that the entire command crew would have been stunned into inaction.

Uhura had left her station to restrain Richards, who was on his feet, very close by, staring at the nurse in absolute horror. The other three men were all on their feet as well, standing beside the command chair, watching her incredulously. It was then that Chapel realised they probably didn't understand what it took to bring a Vulcan out of a healing trance even under normal circumstances. She could still remember what had happened the first time Mr Scott had ever witnessed it and he had not been on the Bridge to explain the needs of the situation to the rest of them.

It was a good thing Uhura knew as much as she did about Vulcans, the nurse reflected. Any interference this time and Spock would have died. She gave Sulu a shaky thumbs up and saw him break out in a smile that was partially disbelieving, partially relieved. Then she turned back to the First Officer.

The Vulcan was nowhere near as stable as he had been when she had left to check Peters and she knew she wouldn't get away with doing that again. She took another deep breath and looked up at the Communications Officer. "You're going to have to keep a periodic check on Peters," the nurse said. She was surprised by how hoarse her voice sounded. _I must have really been shouting,_ she realised suddenly. _No wonder everyone's staring at me!_

Uhura nodded. Then suddenly she grinned. "I'll ensure Peters makes it, Chris. You just concentrate on proving to Mr Spock you're more stubborn than he is," she winked at Chapel and released Richards, giving the Ensign a comforting pat on the arm before returning to her station.

Chapel sighed in relief at the uneasy chuckle that rippled through the command crew, knowing that Uhura was just trying to lighten the nearly unbearable tension. She looked back at Spock, monitoring his breathing and felt her relief die. The nurse had absolutely no idea if it had been her raging emotions, her violent slaps or a combination of both that had brought him back. She only knew that she was utterly exhausted. If that happened again, she wasn't sure she would be able to find the strength to see it through. And, looking at his irregular breathing now, she could see he was beginning to succumb to exhaustion as well.

Willpower was the only medicine they had - and they were starting to run short on supplies.


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 17**

Smoke drifted through Transporter Room 1 as the landing party beamed back up from the planet's surface, all thoughts of welcoming the ship's warm temperatures thrust to the backs of their minds. The transporter technician greeted them with a white face and dishevelled appearance. Kirk stared at him implacably for a moment, before scanning the room. Aside from the smoky haze, the room did not appear to be too badly damaged, so the captain directed the engineers to return to Engineering, while he and McCoy made a beeline for turbolift 1.

The journey to the lift shaft took much longer than normal. None of the turbolifts were functioning efficiently, and on every deck they passed there was evidence of the great battle Sulu had so briefly described. Shattered equipment, injured or stressed personnel, damaged walls, unreliable primary lighting or activated emergency lighting. And everywhere there was a haze of smoke from ruptured circuits and venting gases.

By the time they arrived at their destination, Kirk's face was as white as a sheet. "Doctor M'Benga! Report!" he exclaimed, spotting the senior officer amongst all the technicians and medics that were stationed in the corridor, or working in the shaft.

The tired ACMO turned to face him with a strained smile. "We've got damage all over the ship, Captain. Injuries on all decks. Hundreds injured - varying from minor scrapes to life-threatening. Only two dead so far but that figure might rise before this day ends. Sickbay's stretched to its limit right now. Engineering has taken main control of the ship under Mr Scott's direction - it's got the ability to command the entire ship and it's accessible. Main Bridge is still off limits, although we're making progress on fixing the shaft. According to Miss Chapel and Mr Sulu's reports, most of the bridge crew have suffered minor to moderate damage, but there could be several possible concussions. However, there have been two serious injuries, and they've all suffered radiation exposure - extent currently unknown, although there are inhalation concerns surrounding two of them," he sucked in a deep breath and looked around at a crash behind him.

The Chief Engineer had just wriggled out of the shaft and was making his way over to them. His face was beet red from exertion and sweat beaded his brow. He looked as tired as the ACMO. "We're getting there," he announced with a weary satisfaction. "We'll get this lift moving soon."

Kirk nodded tightly. "How soon is soon?"

"I cannot say, sir," Scott replied with a sigh. "We've broken a dozen safety regulations to get it done this fast. It could be another twenty minutes."

"Exactly what 'serious injuries' do we have on the Bridge, M'Benga?" McCoy asked his deputy. His voice was harsh and his face was grey. The return to the ship had been as much of a shock for him as it had been for Kirk. "Sulu said something about Spock having kirisine poisoning? How the devil did that happen?"

M'Benga nodded. "Lieutenant Peters has been comatose since the initial attack but stable. Nurse Chapel couldn't find anything immediately wrong with him, so we could be looking at something neurological. He did take a lungful of radioactive gas, however. She doesn't know how long he was exposed. Lieutenant Richards also took a lungful while halting the leak. Exposure to the rest of the command crew may be minimal, but they'll all have to be treated." He took a deep breath. "Fixing the radiation leak vented the kirisine. Nurse Chapel isn't certain exactly when Spock was first exposed, but a large amount of it vented into his face approximately twenty-nine minutes ago. He's still alive - barely. His condition is critical."

McCoy was shaking his head in disgust. "He's got the record by six minutes. Even if he's still alive by the time we get him to Sickbay, the best we can do is put him on a ventilator."

"Bones, are you sure there's no cure?" Kirk demanded.

"Yes, Jim! There's no cure," the CMO snapped. "It's a new diagnosis, we barely even know how it progresses." He smiled bitterly. "Except that it progresses too fast for us to keep up with it."

M'Benga nodded gravely. "If Spock was a full-blooded Vulcan he'd be dead already and the harsh truth is that his Human heritage might just be prolonging his death rather than helping him survive it."

"I don't want to hear that," Kirk said grimly. "There have to be alternatives."

"There are no alternatives, Jim," McCoy responded tightly. "Twenty-five years ago we didn't even know kirisine was lethal. It was only ten years ago that we realised it was something to do with copper-based oxygen transport systems - and that's what Rigelians and Vulcans have in common. Vulcanoids die too fast for this condition to be studied - except after they've died."

"It's an older technology, Captain," Scott explained. "Most Federation worlds stopped using it decades ago. Twenty-five years ago, there was as accident in an engineering lab on Rigel V during a seminar and an entire canister of kirisine vented. It killed sixteen Rigelians within the space of ten minutes. It was a shock, to be sure, but for years everyone thought it was a Rigelian vulnerability - then a similar accident happened on Earth three years later. Seven Vulcans died. Five years ago, there was an accident in the middle of an ambassadorial tour. Four members of the Vulcan delegation died within minutes of exposure, the remaining three were lucky to escape with their lives. Since one of those three was the Vulcan Ambassador himself, Starfleet Engineering got turned inside out. The Vulcans demanded nothing less than complete replacement of the kirisine technology - and they're political heavy weights in the Federation, so Starfleet has been refitting its ships ever since. It's one of the reasons we're being refitted at the end of this mission."

Kirk rubbed his face wearily. _That's just great,_ he thought sourly. _My friend, second in command of the Federation flagship, is dying - and all the Admiralty will care about is that he's the son of the ambassador that's been kicking up a fuss about the dangers of kirisine._ He glared at Scott. "Get that turbolift fixed, Mr Scott," he ordered flatly.

"Aye sir," the Chief Engineer turned and disappeared back into the shaft.

"I'm going to hit Sickbay, Jim," McCoy growled. "I'm needed there," he turned to M'Benga. "Keep me updated," he ordered, then turned and hurried down the corridor, heading for his own particular battlefield.

Kirk sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead again. M'Benga smiled at him, a sharp, brittle smile designed to convey a confidence the ACMO did not currently feel. "There _is_ one good thing in all of this, Captain," he said softly.

"What's that?" Kirk shot him a weary look, as if he couldn't believe anyone could see an upside to this situation at all.

"Spock's got Chris looking out for him. That woman will fight tooth and nail to see that he makes it. She won't let him quit - he couldn't be in better hands."

"'Love conquers all', Doctor?"

The ACMO considered that for several moments. "I don't know about that, Captain," he said at last, his grin quirky. "But in my experience, it does put up one hell of a fight."

Kirk gazed at the doctor for a moment before sighing again. He realised what M'Benga was trying to do and, although he wasn't convinced, he appreciated the effort. While he couldn't deny the doctor's platitude, to his mind, Christine Chapel's love for Spock wasn't the issue. The issue was whether the Vulcan cared enough about the nurse's opinion to be inspired enough to fight with her.

And that was a question he really didn't know the answer to.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part 18**

The Bridge was far too quiet, Chapel decided as she rubbed her eyes wearily with the backs of her hands. Despite the fact it was full of the noises of people talking, pushing buttons, flicking switches and mending broken conduits, it was entirely too quiet.

The reason why it was too quiet was lying next to her on the floor, his ragged breathing now so soft the noise reminded her of the rasp of wood against leather. At first, he had responded to her questions, her digs, her nudges. If not in words, then in thoughts, or even with a stoic, stubborn stare. Now, she was struggling to get him to even focus on her and she was becoming discouraged. She was running out of ideas for keeping him alert and he was ignoring her with increasing frequency.

He was losing this fight. She was watching the life ebb out of him with every single breath that slipped from his lips with less determination than the breath that had come before. She had encouraged him, she had yelled at him, she had tortured him with her emotions, and now she was utterly spent.

_She_ was losing this fight.

_Dammit, Spock, I said I was more stubborn than you,_ she thought in frustration. _This is a hell of a time to prove me wrong._

She raised her head to look towards the command chair and found it facing her. Sulu was watching her silently, the look on his face telling her that he could read her despair, and read it accurately. "How long?" she asked, wearily. She didn't need to specify the subject matter - the helmsman knew she was referring to the turbolift.

Sulu smiled, a bitter twist to his lips as he glanced at the chronometer. "At least twenty minutes, by the last estimate - so, that would be just under fifteen minutes now," he replied. His tone was off-hand, calm, even slightly nonchalant, but she caught the undercurrent.

_Not soon enough._

"How is he?"

The nurse stared at him for a moment, then turned back to her patient. _Stupid question,_ she thought bitterly. _He's dying. Just like he was half an hour ago. Only he's a little more serious about it this time._

She swallowed, remembering she was on the Bridge. She was on duty. Never mind that her shift had ended hours ago, she was on the Bridge, and her commanding officer had asked her a question. _Damn duty,_ she growled in the silence of her own mind, even as she lifted her gaze back to Sulu's and shrugged. "Still breathing," she replied. "He's not out of the game yet, sir."

It was a hollow reassurance, she knew. He seemed to know it too because he swivelled back to watch the silvery-blue planet that hovered in the viewscreen, without saying another word. It was an odd thing, she decided, her fingers drifting across the soft skin of the Vulcan's wrist. It was a gesture of absent-minded professionalism, automatically seeking out his pulse rather than any conscious decision. It was odd how Beta Koris 2 could look so much like the moon of Earth - it had the same grey cast, the same silvery sheen when light reflected off it, the same blue glow when caught from the periphery of her vision.

She wondered if it was possible to sit on a beach on Beta Koris 3, sinking her toes into soft sand while shadowed waters lapped nearby, basking in the soft eminence of Beta Koris 2 in all her jewelled and midnight glory.

For a mining planet, it could have been beautiful.

_"Illogical."_

It was barely a whisper in her mind but her gaze jerked back from the viewscreen immediately to stare intently at Spock's face. His eyes were not open, his skin was still that horrible unnatural shade. Not a muscle twitched in his body, except to struggle for every molecule of oxygen his lungs could snap up.

But she knew she hadn't imagined his voice.

Should she speak out loud, or in her mind? She didn't know. She didn't know what he considered illogical anyway.

_"Beta Koris 3. Ice."_

She rubbed her eyes again, forcing herself to focus on his face once more. _Ah,_ she realised. _No beaches._

_"Correct."_

_Party pooper,_ she decided uncharitably. Just because he was fighting for his life from a stupid technical fault caused by some Romulans who really didn't know which side of the Neutral Zone they should have stuck to, did _not_ mean he had the right to interrupt her fantasy. She sighed.

_"I apologise."_

Okay, the touch telepathy thing was getting way beyond annoying now, she decided. Could he read her every thought?

_"Yes."_

She started to jerk away but felt his fingers close tightly around her hand. "Hey," she muttered. "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." She tugged, trying to get her fingers free, but despite his semi-conscious state, his grip was unbreakable. "Look," she growled at him in a quiet voice, fairly certain no-one else could hear her. "You can't bitch about my thoughts and then not give me my hand back."

_"Bitch?"_

"Bitch. Complain."

_"I answered your question."_

"So?"

_"That is not a complaint."_

"Smart-ass."

_"That, however, is insubordination."_

"You're under medical supervision, _sir_," she pointed out irritably.

_"I fail to see your point."_

"You don't outrank me when you're on sick leave."

_"According to regulations--"_

"Oh, for pity's sake, quit harping on about regulations!" she snapped. Of all the stupid times and situations to care about regulations!

Richards and Uhura were staring at her. She blushed furiously as she realised her voice had risen, and Spock was as still as ever. Great. That was just great. All they could see was her talking to a completely unresponsive body. All she needed was for the Bridge crew to think she was cracking under the pressure.

She wasn't entirely certain, but for a moment, just a brief moment, she felt the tiniest flicker of amusement - and she was certain it did not come from her. She blinked and glanced down at his face but it was as still and as expressionless as ever. She scowled, refusing to believe she had imagined it. No matter what he, or other Vulcans claimed, she had never believed that they were without emotion and she wasn't about to start believing it now. _"You can't fool me, mister,"_ she thought irritably.

She raised her head again and glanced sheepishly at Uhura. "Telepathy," she mouthed and watched her friend's beautiful, dark eyes widen in comprehension. Smiling in relief, the Communications Officer returned her attention to her station and Chapel realised that Uhura had taken it as a sign that Spock wasn't as far gone as his still physical appearance was suggesting.

The nurse looked down at him again. She wasn't so certain. Spock could no longer speak, and his thoughts were painfully difficult to unravel. On the other hand, if he was willing quote regulations at her, and if she was unable to squirm free of his grip, he definitely had no excuse to start dying on her any time soon. She concentrated on that feeling of indignant protest, and hoped he could pick it up. She didn't really know how to project her thoughts and feelings, or even whether she could as a psi-null individual - but she was determined to let him know that as long as he was willing to be contrary, she wasn't going to accept him falling unconscious on her.

His lips twitched faintly.

She eyed him. Great. He was at death's door and he was laughing at her. When she had been in nursing school, desperately struggling to complete the degree that would allow her to travel through space to find her missing fiancé, if anyone had _ever_ told her she would end up sitting on the floor of a starship's Main Bridge, holding the hand of a dying Vulcan and watching him laugh at her determination to keep him alive, she would have recommended that person for a psychiatric evaluation.

_"Vulcans do not laugh."_

"Yeah? So what're you doing right now?" she challenged. "You're laughing your ass off, mister. And it's completely unprofessional of you. I'm an Ensign. I'm on duty. On the Bridge. You don't have any right to laugh at me."

_"Illogical."_

"Quite right," she muttered. "You are."

And now Sulu was staring at her as well.

_Forget the brig,_ she decided. _It's going to be the loony bin for me. _She studied the Vulcan. Still, if he survived this, it might be worth it. Laughing Vulcans. If they did commit her, maybe she could blackmail him into letting her back out.

Her fragile humour shattered completely when she realised he hadn't responded. Not even telepathically. She leaned forward and studied him closely. His chest was barely moving and the fingers that had once been holding onto her so tightly were now limp. She tightened her own grip on him. "Okay, Mr Spock," she told him. "This better mean you're thinking up a doozy because I'm no more used to getting the last word than Doctor McCoy is."

No response.

"This isn't funny, Mr Spock." She could feel panic beginning flutter back into life within the pit of her stomach. She pressed her fingers to his skin, checking his pulse and swallowed. It was barely detectable and even as she listened, she could feel it fading. She lifted her eyes and peered closely at his face.

It wasn't a healing trance this time.

The nurse took a deep breath. Then a second. She needed to stay in control. He was a touch telepath - she needed to _feel_ in control. Her eyes lifted to the command chair. "Mr Sulu," she said.

God. Was that her voice? She didn't recognise it. Neither did Sulu, judging by the speed with which he spun around to stare at her, eyes wide with alarm. She swallowed. "Get on the comm. Find out how soon Mr Scott will be finished. Tell Doctor M'Benga to have a portable cardio-stimulator on standby as well as a ventilator." She didn't wait to see how swiftly Sulu passed on the message, she was too busy tilting Spock's head back. His breathing had stopped completely.

_It's okay,_ she thought to herself as she began artificial respiration. _This isn't a problem, Spock. I can breathe for both of us. My lungs are fine. It's Earth-normal atmosphere. I'm healthy. It's easy, Spock. Just hold on and follow my lead._

_Spock?_

His heart had stopped.


	19. Chapter 19

**Part 19**

There was something about the Moon and Humans. Spock had never understood the connection. Initially, he had thought it was something unique to the Human female, rather than the species as a whole. But then he had discovered the amount of literature devoted to the moon, and even the amount of scientific literature devoted to the same subject, and he had realised that Human males were as affected as their females. Just in a slightly different way.

He had found himself drifting off to sleep on a warm, soft beach, the water lapping quietly nearby, just out of sight, a drowsy motion that rocked gently in time with some hidden primal part of himself that he had not even known existed. The only light came from the silvery glow of the moon overhead, an unobtrusive balm that seemed to relax his muscles everywhere the ephemeral light touched.

These were perfect meditation conditions. He could feel his heart-rate slowing, his senses sharpening, his awareness of his own inner self coming into focus.

The lapping of the water indicated tides. Tides were governed by the moon. Many species were dependent on these tides, and so bound by evolution to the moon's existence. Many other species were dependent on the moon-bound species. Was that the fascination Humans had for moons? Something not so much illogical as ... biological?

If it was biological, did it affect him at all? Water _was_ compelling. He had always found it so. The colour, the movements - nothing logical. Was that because he was half-Human? As unable to escape this evolutionary design as a full-blooded Human?

Did Vulcans have similar instincts?

Vulcan had no moon. But it did have a sister planet - one that hung in the sky just as Earth's moon did, whose gravity affected the tides of the Vulcan's oceans, just as the Earth's moon did. Vulcan had species of plants and animals governed by those tides, just as Earth did. Were Vulcans biologically designed to harmonise with the tides just as Humans seemed to be?

_Menalar t'Nahp_ - the Cliffs of Thought. One of the most ancient and most sacred of all sites on Vulcan, a place of pilgrimage since the dawn of Vulcan history, and perhaps even Vulcan pre-history. Even the Masters of _Kolinahr_ travelled to these cliffs for the meditative tranquillity the location offered.

Its enduring lure was related to the mathematical perfection of the harmonics naturally created between the waves of the ocean and a steeply angled beach that led to a series of three partially submerged caves at the base of the cliff. But as he sat here on this beach, watching the stars twinkle into existence around that giant silvery orb, he found himself wondering about the true reasons for the attraction of _Menalar t'Nahp_. Was it nothing more than an evolutionary Vulcan instinct locked away behind the civilising veneer of logic?

The beach he was lingering on wasn't a Vulcan beach. It wasn't even a Terran beach. It was something unique, something that didn't exist, except within the mind of Nurse Chapel. He could see her, a little further down the beach, wriggling her toes in the sand and watching the moon with a content smile on her lips.

He rolled over onto his stomach and watched her. It was not an ergonomically correct posture but he didn't care. There were only two people on this beach. He would not be seen - not even by her. This beach did not exist outside her mind. Therefore, to be on this beach, watching her, he had to be inside her mind. She was psi-null. She would never see him, unless he wished it to be so.

He couldn't remember entering her mind. It should have shocked him that he would have done so without her permission.

Was it without her permission?

He could not remember initiating a meld. But then, he was struggling to remember much of anything right now. He certainly had no memory of how he had come to be sharing her dreams of sitting on this beach, and watching the moon.

Well, that might have been what _she_ was watching, at any rate.

In this light, her skin seemed to shimmer like silk, suffused with a soft, inner glow, a pale silver, as if a twin for the moon in the sky. Her hair, leeched of colour, tumbled round her shoulders like a nebula drifting in deep space. His eyesight, sensitive as it was to the red wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum, spotted the occasional copper glitter within the dark tresses, distant stars, twinkling through the nebulous dust that gently obscured their view.

This was how artists depicted T'Vis, the Star-Maker, she who had brought order from chaos by bringing laws to the whole universe, and to ancient Vulcan in particular: one of the few ancient deities modern Vulcan still studied with fascination - a goddess devoted to pre-Surak concepts of logic and civilisation.

There was an indescribable peace here. On this beach. On this beach that existed only in her mind. In her mind.

She had a very peaceful mind.

If not an illogical one. She thought this beach was Beta Koris 3. An ice planet. It was illogical.

And suddenly the moon was gone, the beach was gone. He was alone, smothering under the weight of a blanket of nothingness. Her voice was a whisper, very far away - a bell-like echo of the peace of that beach.

He wanted that beach back. He wanted that peace.

He couldn't focus on her voice. He tried to reach through the inky fog to locate it, to find the path that would lead him back. She heard him, but she couldn't see him. He couldn't see her. She didn't seem to be aware of the smog that had obscured his vision of the sky, that had stolen his breath and hidden the way back home. He tried to call out to her, to warn her - but he could no longer remember her name.

_T'Vis. First Woman. First Wife. First Mother. In darkness born, from chaos descended, in truth revealed, in logic made ascendant. Hear me._

_Please._

_Do you hear me?_

She didn't. She couldn't. She was no longer there.

It was unacceptable.

_Kaiidth_.

_Accept it. _

_Move on._

_It's the logical thing to do._

Sometimes logic was unfortunate. He really _had_ wanted that beach back, after all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Part 20**

Three days after the battle with the Romulans, and they were finally able to take stock of the damage. Of the cost.

Not a part of the ship had escaped damaged to one extent or another. Fortunately, Mr Scott considered the damage - even the severe damage - to be fixable. A few days in orbit around Beta Koris 2, with the aid of the colony's engineers, had helped stabilise the _Enterprise_ enough for her to begin the journey back to Starbase 7 for repairs. As the Chief Engineer had vowed to Commander Spock, she was doing it at a limp, but she _would _make it into dock under her own steam.

Three-quarters of the crew had received injuries. Although the good news was that most of the injuries were mild or moderate, there had been four deaths. Two more lingered in intensive care, their futures uncertain. The Bridge was once more accessible, and the entire life-support recycled and safe for use. The command crew were all being treated for radiation exposure. For most of them, it was a precautionary treatment but for Lieutenant Peters and Ensign Richards, it would be a few weeks before they knew for certain whether there would be any long-term consequences to their health.

Beta Koris 2 and Starfleet had been stunned by the Romulan attack. And then relieved at the resolution. Unfortunately, not all of their questions could be answered. There was the question of why the Romulans had turned up, and why the _Enterprise_ had chosen to fight against such overwhelming odds rather than retreat. There was also the question of why the third Romulan ship had chosen to self-destruct.

Only one person had definite answers to those three questions.

The one person no-one could ask.

Captain Kirk rubbed his face wearily. He did not need to glance into a mirror to know he was looking as haggard as he felt. He could feel the silent, reassuring presence of Doctor McCoy come to stand next to him but, for once, it wasn't reassuring enough. He was exhausted. Doctor McCoy was exhausted. Everyone was exhausted.

No-one had slept much over the past few days. Too many repairs, too many injuries, too understaffed. Too much bureaucracy. No-one was at their best. Kirk had addressed the memorial services for the four dead crew-members but he knew there was a breathless anticipation lingering over the ship, the question of whether there would be two more. If the pair in intensive care would pull through.

Lieutenant Peters was stable, and his vitals had been showing signs of improvement over the last twenty-four hours. The medical staff were trying not to be too optimistic but the engineer's friends had picked up on the undercurrent, and there was increasing hope for his survival.

Which left Commander Spock.

He wasn't dead yet.

It was the most encouraging thing anyone could say about him, the captain bitterly observed as he watched the Head Nurse who was slumped in the chair beside Spock's bed, somehow asleep despite her uncomfortable posture. When the engineers and medics had finally burst out of the turbolift onto Main Bridge, followed closely by an extremely agitated captain, it had been to the sight of Nurse Chapel, kneeling over the First Officer in front of Uhura's station, attempting resuscitation with an automatic rhythm that made even Kirk, with all his lack of medical knowledge, realise she had been doing this for some time.

M'Benga had been forced to physically remove her from the Vulcan's body, the scope of her entire existence having apparently narrowed so completely to the need to keep Spock alive, she had been unable to comprehend that help had finally arrived. When it had at last sunk in, she'd physically collapsed. Kirk had only just managed to grab her before she hit the floor, and found her skin to be cold and clammy, her body trembling, her breathing erratic.

Shock, McCoy had explained later to Kirk. Performing resuscitation over a long period of time took its toll on even the healthiest, most dedicated, professionals. She had been sustaining the Vulcan for over ten minutes, apparently through sheer willpower alone.

Lieutenant Uhura had tried to step in and help, but despite her completely correct technique, Spock had deteriorated immediately under her attempts. Terrified, she had returned control back to Chapel, and settled for a more passive support role - sitting on the opposite side of Spock's body, encouraging the drained nurse verbally and with her physical presence alone.

"She's exhausted, Bones," he said softly at last. They were standing at the doorway to the intensive care room that had been sustaining Spock for three days, an unspoken agreement to communicate where they wouldn't disturb the wrung-out nurse and her unnaturally silent patient. "Why haven't you relieved her yet?"

"Tried," the CMO sighed, his tone strangely numb, oddly defeatist. "Believe me, Jim, I tried." He shook his head. "I pumped her full of sedatives in the end, left her in the emergency bed in my office. She slept for eight hours straight, Jim." His eyes shifted from Chapel's limp form to Kirk's and the Captain saw no relief, no victory in that washed-out gaze. "And during those eight hours, Spock crashed three times."

"Yes, I remember." How could he forget? The focused chaos, the carefully phrased commands, the sense that everything could be controlled, that everything _was_ in control, despite the fact that really nothing was. That they were being dictated to by the apparent whims of an illness that was so poorly understood. An illness that was fatal. One that had no cure.

Kirk had haunted the Sickbay like a wraith - unable to stay away, yet unwilling to interfere. Unable to be the one who would say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, that would distract the wrong doctor or nurse and be responsible for his best friend's death.

His mind suddenly focused on what the CMO was saying. "Are you saying there's a connection?"

McCoy rubbed his eyes wearily, and for a moment his fingers flexed in front of his body - as if instinctively reaching for a glass of brandy that didn't exist. "I'm saying that every time Chris leaves his side, his condition gets worse."

"This has happened again?" A sudden sheet of red dropped through his eyelids like a dungeon door slamming shut. Behind it, rage surged like an overwhelmed dam. "And you didn't say anything?!"

"You've been running on empty for the last twenty-four hours yourself, Jim. You needed the sleep." McCoy's painfully pale gaze reddened with anger of his own as he squared off against his friend, his captain. "It was a medical decision, Jim. I'm not going to apologise for it. Don't waste your energy - I don't regret it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat." He sighed and sagged against the opposite side of the door frame to Kirk, the rage draining to be replaced by exhaustion. "You're right though. It's happened more than once. Every time, removing Chris is the trigger, and letting her return is what stabilises him. I've given up trying to understand that damnable twisted Vulcan psyche of his."

"Just how long has she been out there now?"

"Eighteen hours," the doctor was shaking his head. "If I had a solution, Jim, I'd take it. Hell, at this point, I'd put them in a double-bed together if it meant he'd get better and she could sleep."

Kirk laughed - the hysterical laugh of someone who couldn't believe he was seeing anything comical in a situation that was anything but humorous. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when they woke up to _that_ scenario."

McCoy grinned - the tight, desperate grin of someone who was also fighting to see the funny side. "It'd make this whole mess worth it, that's for sure."

"The mess is worse than you know," M'Benga rumbled from behind them.

The pair turned as the ACMO strode over to them. The doctor's face was grim, lined with concern, frustration and several other emotions they couldn't identify.

McCoy groaned, "Hit me," and braced himself visibly for the news.

M'Benga rubbed his forehead. "Mr Scott was not exaggerating about the political pressure Vulcan has been exerting over the past five years regarding kirisine poisoning," he sighed. "The fact that I've had to contact Vulcan regarding a new case has reopened the whole can of worms."

"How bad?" Kirk asked apprehensively.

"It was impossible for me to hide the identity of the victim because there's only one Vulcan currently enlisted on board a Starfleet vessel. Spock doesn't talk about it, but as a member of the House of Surak, he's practically royalty. And we all know who the head of that family is," he trailed off.

Kirk closed his eyes, as if by blocking out the sight of Doctor M'Benga, he could block out the ACMO's words. "T'Pau has waded into the debate?" His voice was nearly a groan.

M'Benga smiled weakly. "Yes."

"So Starfleet's in for a political shitstorm," McCoy said impatiently. "Let the politicians and the diplomats worry about it. The only thing I care about right now is whether you learned anything medically useful that'll help Spock."

M'Benga's sigh was discouraging. "As far as my contacts can find out, there have been no breakthroughs in treating kirisine poisoning. They can't help us. I made some private enquiries with a Healer whose discretion I have a great deal of faith in regarding this ... link between Spock and Chris, and ..." he paused for a moment to rub his eyes. "Got some interesting answers."

"And?" Kirk demanded impatiently.

"I've honestly never seen a Vulcan so confused but I think we worked out what may be going on," the ACMO took a deep breath. "Telepaths can share minds, and they can gain strength from that sharing. Vulcans are no different to any other telepathic species in this regard. A bonded couple, can - and usually do - share their strength, often instinctively. Close family members, or very close friends, may do the same, although it usually requires a conscious effort in those situations. However, because of the mental closeness, a meld is not required." He looked between the two men standing before him. "I believe Spock would be able to use either of you to gain such strength without requiring a true meld. You both received permission to attend his wedding, which makes you _t'hai'la_ in the eyes of Vulcan."

"What?" Kirk asked mildly.

"Ah--" M'Benga paused, gathering his thoughts. "It's a word with multiple meanings. In the case of both of you, it would mean men who are not related by blood, but who are brothers by heart and deed."

Kirk and McCoy eyed each other, then M'Benga. "Him?" Kirk pointed incredulously at McCoy, his grin wide, almost slightly mad.

"Me?" the CMO muttered in disbelief at exactly the same moment.

The ACMO shrugged wryly. "Take it up with Spock. It's none of my business."

"And the other meanings of the word?"

"Not relevant right now," M'Benga quickly glossed over that subject. "On the subject of Chris, however, it was harder to pin down. She isn't his wife, bondmate, blood-relative ... or _t'hai'la _..." he wavered slightly, then hurried on. Two sets of eyes narrowed suspiciously at his pause but allowed him to continue. "But, last year, Sargon placed Spock's consciousness into Christine's mind. Without going into details, the Healer told me that, theoretically at least, such a transferral of consciousness could create an informal link similar to the kind that very close friends or relatives may have. The Vulcan instinct for survival is very powerful. If he was in physical contact with Chris, and we know he was, he may have tapped into her strength of will to sustain him through the link Sargon forged. It's entirely possible he didn't even know such a link existed and is doing this on instinct."

"Damnable twisted Vulcan psyche," McCoy growled, glancing back at his shattered head nurse. "Could this kill her?"

"If left indefinitely in an uncontrolled state, it could become life-threatening, yes," M'Benga said slowly. "Given the state of his health, I do not think he did such a thing consciously. Nor do I think he would hang on as doggedly as he's currently doing if he was aware it was hurting her."

"Is there any way we can separate them before he does kill her?" McCoy demanded.

M'Benga shook his head wearily. "A Vulcan Healer could do it," he replied. "But it's not recommended without a trained supervisor. We don't know how entangled their minds are. I'd suggest that we explain to Christine what we think is happening and see if she can use this link to make him consciously aware of what he's doing. Maybe he'll release her if he knows how exhausted he's making her."

"What will happen if he does release her?" Kirk chimed in. "Will he crash again?"

M'Benga shook his head. "If his lack of stability was due to the poisoning, then yes, he probably will. If it was due to being forcibly separated from her, we could actually have been witnessing the effects of a telepathic trauma instead. If that's the case, a proper severance - by him - will mean he won't suffer adversely when they're separated again."

"And if he _doesn't_ release her?" Kirk asked very slowly.

M'Benga gave him a long look. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, maybe she won't be able to reach him, maybe he's ... he's not conscious enough. But maybe ... maybe she will be able to communicate it to him and he won't release her anyway." The Captain's gaze was steady. "What would happen then?"

"Vulcans don't believe in knowingly hurting other creatures." M'Benga pointed out. His expression was curious, as if he was trying to pin down an undercurrent he could sense but not quite understand.

Kirk and McCoy exchange a look and the CMO nodded once, as if giving his captain encouragement to continue. Kirk turned back to M'Benga. "Look, we've seen first hand how desperately a Vulcan will hang onto a female who's in a position to save his life - even when he doesn't have any feelings for her."

"Ah, yes," the ACMO had a broader medical knowledge on Vulcans than Doctor McCoy and knew instantly what subject was being discussed. "I take it you're of the school of thought that believes Christine's feelings for him aren't one-sided?"

"In all the time you've known him, has he _ever_ been entirely logical where she's concerned?" McCoy grumbled.

M'Benga nodded calmly. "In fact, I _have_ noticed that," he agreed quietly. "I think, if he's conscious enough, he'll let her go. If, however, he's acting on instinct, and isn't in a position to take back control of those instincts, your concerns ... might become valid. In that case, our only option will be to put them both into stasis, travel immediately to Vulcan, and ask a Healer to sever the link."

"Would that cause any lasting damage?"

"I don't know," M'Benga admitted honestly. "I think it would depend on how hard Spock fought the Healer. Vulcan Healers have been dealing with these kinds of issues for thousands of years though. They're familiar with all the potential complications that could arise and have an excellent success rate."

"Would he fight the Healer?"

M'Benga's grin was a little twisted, more faux-humour in a situation that did not merit amusement. "Vulcans are extremely possessive. If he has feelings for her, and is acting on a purely instinctive level, he probably _would_ fight the Healer - he would see the Healer's intervention as a threat to his possession of her." He straightened and gazed steadily at the worried pair. "As I said, Healers have been dealing with these kinds of complications for thousands of years. It won't be a new problem for them, they'll have techniques for addressing this issue, if it arises."

Kirk was nodding grimly. "That's what we'll do then," he decided. He looked Chapel, for a moment his expression tinged with sympathy. Then his face hardened. "Bones, wake her up. Let's get this over with as soon as possible, shall we?"

McCoy glared at him, then muttered and began to prepare some hyposprays - just in case. He had no particular desire to disturb the exhausted nurse but Kirk was right - the sooner this situation could be resolved, the better off she'd be.

_Damnable twisted Vulcan psyche,_ he thought irritably as he headed towards Chapel. _When this is over,_ _we'll be having a little chat, Mr I-Have-No-Emotions. And as sure as my name's Leonard H. McCoy, that's one promise I plan to keep._


	21. Chapter 21

**Part 21**

Nurse Chapel stood at the edge of the shore, inches from place the highest wave could reach, as if daring the tide to catch her. Starlight reflected off the dusky water and an ephemeral silver puddle rippling across the surface was all the evidence she needed to know that the moon sat high in the sky, unencumbered by clouds.

_Not a moon,_ she corrected absently. _Beta Koris 2._

She wriggled her toes in the soft, warm sand and looked around with a deep sigh.

Initially, she had not understood what the two doctors and Captain Kirk had tried to tell her. Exhaustion and disbelief had clouded her mind to their words until Doctor M'Benga had asked her to think carefully about her interactions with the dying first officer to see if she could remember any point where he had manifest in her mind as if a meld had been performed.

It had taken her some time - she had never melded with any Vulcan, so had no basis for comparison. The sharing of consciousness that had occurred between herself and Spock a year previously did not seem to apply to this situation. That had been something beautiful, something outside of space and time, something outside of the limitations of mere physical experience. On the Bridge, she had heard his words in his mind and a few muted echoes of his emotions that she still wasn't certain she had truly felt. At no time could she remember him manifesting in her mind.

And then she had remembered. The beach. The fantasy beach on Beta Koris 3 that she had created in her own mind while gazing at Beta Koris 2 on the viewscreen. Spock had told her it was an illogical fantasy. How could he have possibly known about that beach? A touch telepath could pick up thoughts and emotions without a meld. But images?

She had agreed to try and find Spock's mind, to try and make him realise what he was doing and that it was past time to release her, to allow her to rest. She had then realised that agreement was easy. Honouring the request, on the other hand, was not.

How did a psi-null Human reach an unconscious Vulcan's mind?

Letting him feel her emotions on the Bridge in order to keep him alive had been relatively simple. All she'd had to do was to feel them as strongly as possible and focus all of her attention on him. His ability to shield himself had been what had mattered not her ability to find his mind.

For a while, she had sat there, trying to project every emotion she could think of - love, respect, loyalty, irritation, anger, and finally frustration. Nothing had worked. Even the biobed monitors had failed to register any changes in his body. It was as if she hadn't tried anything at all.

In the end, feeling distracted and embarrassed, she had asked everyone to leave them alone in peace so she could relax and think of a way to reach him. With them standing over her, she had felt pressurised, as if she was working to an urgent deadline she couldn't afford to miss.

She had reflected that sensation probably wasn't far wrong.

But it had given her the inspiration - the memory of him recognising the beach in her mind, of him actually bothering to comment on it. She didn't know if it was the location or the sheer illogic that had prompted him to pay attention but something had and she wanted to recapture that if at all possible.

Relaxing had proven harder than she had imagined, harder than the sense of calm she had managed to capture and hold onto when on the Bridge, when helping him to recover from choking to death on his own lungs. She had found that calm then because it had been what he needed, her motivation had been solely for his benefit. But now, facing the fact she was doing this more for herself, with no idea of what severing the link would do to his health, she found herself struggling to find any peace at all.

_Try not to think of it as severing. It's not life-support. You're not turning off the machine. You are not a machine, Christine. Relax. Centre yourself. You have good memories, you've had times when you've been at peace, when all you've known is calm and a sense of a belonging. Find them._

She thought about all those times her family had brought her calm. The way her mother would rock her back to sleep after she had suffered terrible nightmares; or of the way her father picked her up and carried her up to bed when she fell asleep on the back porch in the evenings. The times when her fiancé had held her in his arms all night, whispering of his plans for the future - plans that were intended to include her. She remembered the sound of his voice coming across Main Bridge communications - the first time she had heard his voice for five years and felt tears sting her eyes at the bittersweet taste of the memories.

She moved on quickly, hesitating briefly before plunging into her memories of Omicron Ceti III and the wonderful sensations the spores had evoked in her. How she had wandered the meadows without a care, marvelling at the beauty in a blade of grass, giggling with pleasure at the feel of the sun on her skin. She knew these were memories he had experienced too - she knew that for a time, he had been happy there as well, revelling in the same emotions and feelings everyone else had been experiencing. Relaxed, open, content - perhaps for the first time in his life. It did not matter that it had been with another woman. What mattered was the peace she was trying to conjure up, the tranquillity that would open the door back to her fantasy beach. If that meant reminding him of the peace he had found with someone who was not her, she would encourage it. It was the right thing to do.

Her lips curled up into a gentle smile. It was the _logical_ thing to do.

Before her thoughts could become tainted with more bittersweet echoes, she moved on. She concentrated on her experiences with Sargon's transferral of Spock's consciousness to her own. The sense of awe she had experienced at the raw power of the Vulcan's mind, the beauty of his ordered thoughts, the indomitable respect for life that kept raw power and ordered focus locked into a balance that ensured he could never, would never, harm other living creatures. She held on to the sense of a memory that to this day still echoed in her mind like a sleepily-acknowledged musical chime.

And then there she was, back on her fantasy beach, inches from the lapping water, watching the moon glide gracefully over gently bobbing waves, feeling more at peace than she had for days.

And utterly alone.

With a sigh, she began to walk along the beach. In her fantasy, she had created a long strip of golden sand, that shimmered with a metallic sheen in the light. One that seemed to stretch on forever, one that could be walked across and enjoyed for hours.

Had she known that she would end up having to search every inch of it for an errant Vulcan consciousness, she might have made her fantasy beach a little bit smaller.

She felt like she had been walking for hours. Her feet hurt from sliding across the loose grains, her muscles were aching, and she was feeling like an idiot flapping her arms around for balance every time the shifting sands caught her by surprise. Now her stomach was growling.

She was fairly certain fantasy beaches weren't supposed to make the dreamer feel quite so wretched. "Wonderful, Christine," she grumbled as she stumbled, slid and hopped across the sand. "That's just wonderful. You're the only woman in the _galaxy_ whose fantasy beach is hell. Congratulations."

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and looked around. The beach continued to stretch on for miles in either direction. She couldn't tell from where she had come, or where she was going. She couldn't tell how far she had walked, no footprints marred the sand behind her to indicate she even existed.

"You're a masochist, Christine. That's got to be what this is all about. Masochism."

With a deep sigh, she turned to continue on and then spotted him.

Spock was lying on the sand, one arm cradled underneath his head, the other flung comfortably across his abdomen. He was stretched the full length of his body, ankles crossed lazily and looking utterly peaceful. For a moment, she thought he was stargazing. Then she realised he was asleep.

She stared at him incredulously. For a moment, she was rooted to the spot, torn between two opposing emotional reactions. One that couldn't help but to melt at the sight of him, the one that wanted to drop down on the sand, cuddle up next to him, and fall asleep using his chest as a pillow.

The other impulse was a nearly overwhelming urge to strangle the living daylights out of him for being inside _her_ mind, on _her_ fantasy beach, and apparently enjoying the experience a hell of a lot more than she was.

With another sigh, she trudged across to him and sank down onto her knees. Then she paused, slightly unbalanced. Although she had seen him asleep or unconscious many times in Sickbay, this wasn't quite the same. Despite a slight pallor, he looked quite healthy. His sleep was gentle, natural, his face relaxed in a way she never before seen.

He was far too beautiful to wake, she decided sadly, unable to resist extending a hand to touch his cheek, trailing a finger lightly down his skin until she reached the jaw line. He didn't stir and without really thinking about it, her finger dropped lower, to his neck, to check his pulse.

His eyes flew open and she jumped like a startled cat, instinctively snatching her hand away. For a moment, he stared at her, a bemused look in his eyes. She stared back, fascinated. Never had she seen his eyes quite so black - deep dark sleepy pools, abyssal in their depths. God. Was this what he looked like when he woke up in the mornings?

No wonder Leila and Zarabeth had been so desperate to hold onto him.

"T'Vis?" his voice was soft, barely audible and, unconsciously mimicking her earlier gesture, he reached out with his own hand to brush her cheek with a thumb.

She swallowed and sat very still, feeling that light touch leave a trail of electricity across her skin, frozen by the wonder she saw in those dark eyes.

Then, suddenly, his gaze snapped back to its usual deep brown focus and he sat bolt upright, snatching his hand back as swiftly as she herself had done only moments before. "Nurse Chapel?"

That was his best first officer's tone, she noticed, regaining her own focus and blushing furiously.

Then she wondered what on earth she had to blush about when _he_ was the one that had just been caught daydreaming.

He stared at her as if he had somehow telepathically reached into her mind and casually plucked out what she was thinking.

Oh.

Yes.

The reason why she was here.

One eyebrow rose. "I do not remember melding with you," he said at last.

"I don't remember you melding with me either," she replied, suddenly irritated with him. He gazed curiously at her, as if fascinated by the conundrum and that only made her angrier. She had no idea why but, right now, he was possibly the most infuriating man alive. "Doctor M'Benga thinks it has something to do with that consciousness transfer Sargon did last year."

"Interes--"

"And the fact that Vulcans have a powerful survival instinct."

"I ..."

"And the fact you seemed to think my mind makes a really great blood bank for you to leech off."

"Nurse ..."

"I don't _mind_ helping you, Mr Spock, but you could at least give me a break once in a while!"

"Miss Chapel!"

She subsided, glaring at him. He could act like a Starfleet Commander all he wanted to but they were inside _her_ mind and she hadn't slept properly for three days. She was _not_ going to let him boss her around inside her own mind. He didn't even have her permission to be here.

There was a stunned look in his eyes, she realised suddenly. She had never seen him look so shocked. Well, except for that one time when he had returned to the ship from Vulcan's surface to find Captain Kirk still alive, maybe...

"Christine, must you think so much?" The Vulcan's voice was suddenly a weakened mumble. He had closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his own meld points, a faint frown of concentration on his face. Suddenly his skin flushed green and he leaned forward slightly, breathing harshly, as if about to throw up.

"Mr Spock?" She reached out to steady him but he brushed her off roughly and scrambled to his feet, putting distance between them as if she had suddenly contracted a contagious disease.

For a moment, she sat there, numb with shock. Never in her life had she imagined he of all people could behave so rudely. And inside her own mind!

She surged to her feet, suddenly furious. "Yes! I have chaotic thoughts, Mr Spock! I don't follow Vulcan disciplines, I don't practice a philosophy of logic. I'm a flawed, emotional Human being that can't measure up to your Vulcan standards. I get it, Mr Spock, really I do. But considering the fact you're inside my mind, I think you could grant me a little respect while you're here! I didn't invite you in - if you don't like what you're finding, you're welcome to leave. No! In fact you're encouraged to leave! That's why I'm here - to tell you to get the hell out of my head so I can actually get some sleep for a change!"

She crashed to a halt, suddenly aware she was inches away from him, her fists clenched at her side and glaring up into his face as if she could laser him to death with her own eyes. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she wondered where all the anger was coming from. Exhaustion was not a new sensation for her, given the job she did and the life she led, and while it could make her short-tempered, she had never really exploded at anyone ever before. And while he _had_ been rude, he was also very sick and locked inside a Human's mind with possibly no strength to defend against her uncontained psyche. He was in telepathic hell - Platonius had proven that.

Part of her, however, was too incensed to care.

He flinched. "The reason you are unusually angry is because I am here without your permission," he said very softly. He swallowed slightly but didn't back down from her glower. "It is ... " he hesitated, momentarily dropping her gaze as he fought for the right words. "... a survival instinct, I believe you might say. Even psi-null individuals possess a certain ... territorial need to protect their minds from unwanted intrusion. I have violated that," he looked back at her, deep within her eyes, with a strength of genuine regret, self-recrimination and even horror, that her rage was quenched almost as quickly as it had flared up. "My behaviour is unforgivable. I cannot make this right. I can only apologise."

She slumped. This was so unfair. She never could remain angry with him. Even when he deserved it. She sighed in frustration. "If it's any consolation, Doctor M'Benga thinks what happened was instinctive and outside your control, given how sick you are. Constant physical contact, a lingering connection from Sargon, and almost dying, triggered a survival instinct of your own, apparently," she grinned. There _was_ some genuine amusement in her expression, but it was also an expression of frustration. "In other words, Mr Spock, you took the only logical option available to you."

She noticed he didn't raise an eyebrow at that. Somehow, she had expected him to. "How deeply have I injured you?" he asked quietly.

The nurse blinked. "You haven't injured me at all, Mr Spock."

He threw her a look of near frustration. "Miss Chapel, you referred to me 'leeching' off you and then alluded to the fact I have not allowed you to sleep for three days. I am clearly doing _something_ to you."

"Oh, that," she looked slightly embarrassed and his eyebrow shot into his hairline. She wondered if her mind really was unusually illogical or whether he had this much trouble with all Human minds. Of course, lack of decent sleep for three days was never going to show off her mind in a very good light. She never functioned very well without sleep.

She really was in the wrong job, she decided.

And he was staring at her again.

"Mr Spock, why do you keep doing that?"

He blinked. "Our minds are linked, Miss Chapel. I ... do not think you are aware of the fact I know _all_ your thoughts."

Chapel studied him for a moment, but this did not appear to be some strange, off-kilter Vulcan joke. He was serious. "You mean... the ones I don't speak too?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes that wasn't frustration, irritation or apology. It looked like amusement. "Nurse, the words you think you are 'speaking' are merely thoughts you are consciously expressing. We are inside your mind, are we not?"

She swallowed. "And the thoughts I'm not 'speaking'?"

"You are unconsciously expressing," he said gently. "I did not mean to offend you when I moved away from you. I was attempting to re-establish some of my disciplines to protect your privacy." He stopped suddenly, a little perturbed. "My strength was insufficient. I do not appear to be maintaining my disciplines at all well at the moment. I should not be here, and I cannot afford you privacy while I am here. I must apologise for that also." He stared silently at her for a few moments, then took a step forward. "I will repeat the question, Miss Chapel. What am I doing to your health?"

She sighed. Great. Now she had to work out how to tell him that the only thing that had stopped him dying for three days was some wacky _t'hai'la_ bond that had her pouring her strength into his mind so he could keep fighting the kirisine. That every time she left the room, he'd enter cardiac arrest. That she was fast sliding towards sleep deprivation so he needed to get out of her mind soon. Oh yeah, and that she was terrified he'd die if the connection was severed.

She needed to find a much more diplomatic way of phrasing all that.

His lips curled upwards, a tiny ghost of a smile. But it seemed quite sad and not at all amused. "Lack of self-expression is not one of your weaknesses," he observed.

"Oh God," she groaned, realising she didn't have to find another way to phrase herself at all. "I'm sorry, Mr Spock. I'm _really_ not used to having a telepath inside my head."

"This situation is not one _you_ need to apologise for," he reminded her. "This is my error to correct." He looked around the beach thoughtfully for a few moments, before his gaze fixed on the sand dunes she had found him sleeping near. There was a path winding its way through the dunes and disappearing off out of sight. "Miss Chapel, I really am very sorry for the unacceptable nature of my behaviour over the past three days," he gave her a very intent stare as if about to add something else, then seemed to think better of it.

Her eyes widened as she realised he had been going to offer the traditional Vulcan platitude - the request for forgiveness. Did he really think he didn't deserve it? "Forgiveness is thine, isn't that the correct response, Mr Spock?" she asked tartly.

He stared at her again.

She rolled her eyes and strode over to him. He took one step back before coming to a halt. She was holding tightly to his shirt, preventing him from escaping anywhere.

"Look, Mr Spock," she snapped impatiently. "You're a good man. You're honest, you're loyal, you value integrity, professionalism and kindness, and you don't like hypocrisy, so you try and practice these traits yourself. And it's not because you're a Vulcan, or a Human, it's who you are as a person. A whole person. You're not half of anything, Mr Spock. Not in the ways that matter. I think I've told you all this once before, but I'm going to tell you again - while I'm not stoned out of my skull by an alien virus and while you're inside my head, so you _know_ I'm not lying to you."

The longer she spoke, the more passionate she seemed to become. Her eyes were locked on his but he didn't need to see the conviction in that gaze - he was inside her mind. He was smothered by it.

"The trouble is, Mr Spock, you are your own worst enemy. I don't know who in your life has told you you're not good enough for either full-blooded Humans or Vulcans, but you really need to stop listening to them! They're being illogical! Yes, you make mistakes sometimes - you're not perfect, you're not supposed to be. You're a scientist, Mr Spock. You know the best discoveries are learned through error rather than success. The mistake is not as important as the learning curve, and I _know_ you've got a learning curve. Therefore, I forgive you and I think you should forgive yourself!"

She sucked in a ragged breath, feeling slightly dizzy and light-headed. She wondered if she had bothered to take a breath somewhere in all of that - she couldn't, for the life of her, remember.

Spock was silent. She could feel his hands gripping her arms tightly, as if he had initially planned to push her away from him. Instead, his body was as still as stone. Her words had frozen him. That stunned look she had seen earlier was back in his eyes. In fact, he looked a little punch-drunk.

"I wasn't planning on leaving you speechless, Mr Spock," she admitted, after several moments of watching him completely fail to respond.

Slowly, he seemed to come back to life, his body stirring restlessly, his eyes gradually regaining their focus. He didn't release his grip on her arms and the gaze he shot her was suddenly piercing. "If that was not your intent, why did you repeat a speech that had that effect on me once before?"

"I didn't exactly repeat it," she tried to pull free of his grip but failed. He was as immovable as a locked docking clamp. "I thought I'd try improving on it a bit. Just to make a point."

"Indeed. I did say lack of self-expression is not a weakness of yours."

She was almost certain she could see a faint curl of humour at the corners of his mouth. "You're laughing at me," she mumbled. She could feel herself sag. Or maybe she had just become aware of the fact she was already sagging.

"Vulcans do not laugh, Nurse."

"You do. You are. Inside my own mind. It's not fair, Spock. Mr Spock, sorry," she paused. "Am I tired?"

He shot her another piercing look. "You are exhausted."

She nodded in agreement. "I haven't slept for a while," she told him.

"I know. You said." He took her weight as she sagged again. "Where are our bodies?"

"Huh?" She looked up at his face, confused by the question.

His face was quite expressionless now. "Our physical bodies. Where are we?"

"Oh, right," she nodded and dropped her gaze back down to her waist. She was leaning against his chest, and he had one arm wrapped tightly around her body. It was the only reason why she was still standing. Had her speech really been so passionate that it drained her this much? If she were a Vulcan, it would have been fascinating. Correction. If she were more awake, it would have been fascinating. "ICU 1. Biobed 1 for you, a chair next to it for me."

He nodded thoughtfully. He knew as well as she did that ICU 1 had three biobeds. His free hand lifted up to brush her dark hair away from her face, the tips of his fingers lightly caressing her temples - whether by accident or design, she didn't know. It was a nice gesture all the same, she decided. She considered her desperate attempt to drop off the radar after Platonius, how it had backfired because the male crew members seemed to prefer her as a brunette. How annoying their interest was.

_Not one of them ever considered doing what Spock just did,_ she thought. _I'd even date Lieutenant Rivers if he was that good at it. Well, maybe. Only once though. And in a public place. With Nyota along. Make that Janice too. Safety in numbers, after all. But he'd have to beat this. Which he can't. God. I'm rambling. How tired _am _I?_

Spock pressed his fingers to her meld points. "Is Mr Rivers still a problem?" he asked in a mild tone.

"No, not really," she replied, subconsciously pulling her face away from his hand. "Bumped into him in Sickbay yesterday, and he told me that he's always impressed by someone who can scare a person to death but he's never seen anyone scare a person to _life_ before. I think watching me bully all the senior officers on board made him nervous. Either that, or he doesn't see a future with someone who's going to spend the rest of her commission in the brig. If I'd known that was what it took to get rid of him, I'd have done it sooner."

"Bully the senior officers on board?" He moved his fingers back to her meld points.

"Yes. Just need a reason to yell at Captain Kirk now, and then I'll have the whole set."

She started to pull away again, but his fingers pressed against her face a little more firmly. "Relax," he murmured and, despite the soft tone, it was definitely an order.

"Hey," she mumbled. "I said I wasn't going to let anyone boss me around inside ... oh!" She broke off to stifle a sudden yawn, as the desire to crawl into bed and forget the whole universe for a few hours became overwhelming. Her skin was tingling with the need for rest. Even her hair felt sleepy.

"Once I have left your mind, you will find a spare biobed and relax," he was lying her down in the warm sand and moving away. His voice was quiet, seemingly drifting across thousands of miles of empty space to whisper against her ear. "You will sleep for as long as your body requires rest and your dreams will be pleasant."

"They will? That's nice." She was fairly certain there was something very wrong with this scenario but she couldn't work out what.

"Christine," he said firmly, as if he could feel her fighting his soothing voice. "Good night." He was heading for the path, she realised.

"Wait a minute! If you go back to your body..."

"I will sleep. As will you. Good night, Miss Chapel," and he disappeared amongst the dunes, like a ghost that had never really been present at all.

Chapel stared in the direction he had disappeared in for a moment, her eyes blurred with sleep, then she clambered to her feet to stumble back onto the beach proper. She almost tripped over the chair that was in her way.

A chair? On the beach? Since when?

She was in Sickbay again, standing beside the chair she had so recently occupied, and still holding Spock's hand. She squinted at the monitors suspiciously, and stared in surprise. The readings were looking very healthy. She stared at the Vulcan's face and there was colour back in his cheeks. He didn't look unconscious anymore, he looked asleep. She peered a little more closely at him.

He _was_ asleep.

She yawned and felt her knees tremble in response. "Night, Spock," she mumbled and, releasing his hand, she stumbled over to the nearest biobed to collapse into an exhausted slumber.

They were both still sleeping when two worried doctors and a quietly panicking captain arrived an hour later to find out what had been taking so long. When the three men eventually left, they carried with them a lot less tension and a lot more hope.


	22. Chapter 22

**Part 22**

The Sickbay medical staff were nervous.

Despite the fact they were still picking up the pieces of the battle and treating new crewmembers as they came in with injuries sustained from the repairing of the ship, there had been a noticeable upswing in the health of the crew. Severe injuries were on the mend, the Head Nurse was back on duty and full of energy, Commander Spock was conscious and stable and now Lieutenant Peters had come out of his coma and was making steady progress. As a result, the Chief Medical Officer had been smiling for two days straight. One evening, he had even been caught whistling.

The Sickbay medical staff weren't used to having such a light-hearted boss for such long periods of time. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't take long. When Doctor McCoy walked into the ICU and found the First Officer propped up in bed working on a datapadd, things had very quickly returned to normal. Conscious for only two days after having suffered a condition he was the first known survivor of, the Vulcan had spent quite a lot of his time sleeping to rebuild his strength. As a precautionary measure, Doctor M'Benga had forbidden him the use of the healing trance, forcing him to heal the good old fashioned Human way. To say that Spock had been less than thrilled by this demand was an understatement but the Vulcan medical specialist had been adamant. He had even threatened to sic the Head Nurse on him if he refused to agree.

The speed with which Spock had complied after _that_ threat had amused Doctor McCoy for the rest of the day.

The news of the nurse's behaviour on the Bridge after the Romulan attack had spread like wildfire. That she had ordered around an entire command crew, the Second Officer, the ACMO and single-handedly bullied the First Officer into surviving an illness no other Vulcan had ever recovered from, was so at odds with her generally mild-mannered persona that the crew didn't seem to know what to make of her anymore. No-one was attempting to get on her bad side right now. Not even Spock.

Doctor McCoy had never had such obedient patients.

The sole reason the CMO had let Spock get away with his datapadds was because Starfleet was breathing down their necks for full reports on the Romulan incident and the only report outstanding was the First Officer's. McCoy knew that Spock was somewhat puzzled by the doctor's unusual lack of complaint regarding his patient working from a biobed but for McCoy it was all part of his plan.

The plan he was about to finish executing right now.

He leaned nonchalantly against a wall waiting while Spock finished summarising his report of the battle, waiting for the chance to kick Kirk out of ICU without hurting the Captain's feelings.

"So let me see if I have this right," Kirk leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the Vulcan's tired features. "You realised that there were three birds-of-prey in the Beta Koris system because of your belief that they were here to destroy the entire mining planet? Not to take control of the colony, but to wipe it out of existence?"

"Quite correct, Jim," Spock replied placidly. His voice was still a rough, too-deep baritone, and his breathing was not entirely back to normal but he sounded more like an over-exerted asthmatic than a man who had been suffocating to death. "I was not certain if it was located with the two ships we knew of or whether it had remained in orbit around Beta Koris 2 but I could think of only two logical reasons for the Romulans to cross the Neutral Zone. The first, and most obvious, was to annexe the dilithium mines for their own purposes."

"Which isn't very strategically sound, given how far into Federation space the mines are located," Kirk nodded, watching with sympathy as the Vulcan half-listened and half-concentrated on breathing evenly. "Especially since intel suggests that the sister planet of Romulus, Remus, is rich in dilithium."

"Indeed," Spock agreed slowly. "If the crystal alignment is too perfect, dilithium is dangerously unstable, so finding optimally aligned crystals is a rare prize for any warp-based culture. Koris 2 crystals improve energy transfer by 26 per cent, with a theoretical possibility of a 29 per cent yield. The Romulan cloaking device has an inefficient energy transfer matrix. The yield loss is at least 21 per cent. It is why a bird-of-prey cannot shield or fire weapons when cloaked. Koris 2 dilithium has the potential to solve that energy crisis."

"You're saying that with Koris 2 dilithium they could fire their weapons under cloak?" McCoy interrupted from where he was hovering near the wall.

"Not only that, Bones," Kirk added grimly. "But it would render the treaty useless. We wouldn't be able to enforce it because we wouldn't be able to detect their presence in Federation space until it was too late. Even then, we wouldn't be able to defend against ships we can't see."

"Well, it still doesn't make sense if you ask me," the doctor commented after a moment of turning that over in his mind. "You don't need three ships to take over a mining colony and you need more than three ships to defend invaded territory against the local fleet."

"Precisely, Doctor," Spock agreed. "Which is why I surmised they intended to destroy the planet rather than capture it. Just as we would be concerned by Romulans having an source of energy-efficient dilithium, they would also be concerned about us having one."

"Why not just send one ship to destroy the mining colony?"

"Mining colonies can be rebuilt, Bones," the Captain explained. "According to Scotty, the entire planet has the potential to be mined for this dilithium. Therefore the entire planet is a threat, not just a single mining colony."

"It explained why the plasma weapons they employed were so effective," Spock added. "The ships were modified to improve firepower. One ship alone would not have the power required to destroy an entire planet. Not even when modified. Two ships probably would not achieve such a goal either - I would need to study their power utilisation curves to know for certain. However, three birds-of-prey would have the necessary firepower to destroy a planet of the size of Beta Koris 2."

"And you were right. There was a third ship."

"Indeed, although I cannot confirm with 100 per cent accuracy that my theory of their motive is correct. However, it _is_ the most logical conclusion for their presence here."

"Alright," Kirk looked down at the datapadd in his hands. "And your decision to stand and fight rather than retreat?"

Spock started to lean forward but suddenly sucked in a deep breath and lay back again, looking rather pale. McCoy scowled and moved forward to give him a quick scan. The Vulcan stared at him for a moment but when the doctor glared right back, the First Officer clearly decided protest would be a waste of time and effort, so returned to his report.

"I realised that the first ship to decloak was luring us away from the planet. It seemed logical to assume they were leading us to another ship, or ships, that were preparing to ambush us. The obvious conclusion was that the Romulans had no intention of allowing us to return to Starfleet to warn them of their presence in this sector. Since they had no intention of allowing us a successful retreat, and being within a solar system limits our speed and manoeuvrability, I made the decision to follow the bird-of-prey and prepare for ambush. We would stand a better chance of survival in deep space than within the solar system. It was initially my plan to remain only long enough to confirm the strength of the Romulan force and then retreat to inform Starfleet of the threat."

Spock paused for a few moments and Kirk waited patiently for his friend's breathing to settle again. "The ambush only confirmed the presence of two ships but I considered it unwise to remain and took the logical course of action to retreat. The conversation between the Romulan Commanders confirmed they had no intention of allowing us to retreat which meant the third bird-of-prey had to be cloaked nearby, waiting to intercept us. _Enterprise_ was faster than they were, they could not be so confident of preventing our retreat unless they had the means to stop us. And that had to come from another ship that was still ahead of us somewhere. We had no way of detecting it, so in retreat we were vulnerable. The logical solution was therefore to obtain a defensive position until we could ascertain what escape routes, if any, we had."

He paused again and glanced at McCoy, who was mumbling at his scanner readings.

"Anything wrong, Bones?" Kirk asked, slightly worried by the expression on the irascible doctor's face.

"Damn crazy Vulcan readings," the CMO muttered to himself. "You'll be fine Spock. _If_ you stop wiggling around so much."

One eyebrow shot up. "Doctor. Vulcans do not wiggle."

McCoy stared at him for a moment, then roared with laughter. "Get on with this," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "I need to speak with Spock in private when you're done."

Kirk frowned again. "Bones, are you certain everything's fine?"

The CMO was still grinning. "Yes, Jim. You do your job and let me do mine," he returned to his position against the wall.

Kirk raised both eyebrows at Spock, who arched one in return. The Vulcan swallowed then took a deep breath and continued. "The nebula Miss Chapel located provided us with a suitable opportunity to improve our odds of survival. I was also concerned that if we did successfully retreat, there would be no net gain. The planet would be destroyed, with the loss of 635 colonists and an 8-man landing team, before we would be able to report to Starfleet. We would then have no way of tracking down the Romulan ships. And, as a successful mission, the Romulans would only be encouraged to attempt further such missions in the future. Success breeds confidence. However, if utilised efficiently, the nebula could help us at least disable a ship, should retreat still be required."

"Of course," Kirk realised. "If there was no way you could win, you could still make sure they didn't have the ability to carry out their plan while you left the region to warn Starfleet."

"Yes," Spock agreed. "I was still contemplating the possibility of a retreat when the first ship was destroyed but we almost collided with the second ship and there was no chance for escape after that."

"Alright, Mr Spock," Kirk leaned forward again. "So, given the fact he could have destroyed the _Enterprise_, why didn't the third ship take that chance, or at least try to return home? That's the big question I can't answer. Why did the Commander chose self-destruction?"

There was a brief hesitation.

"Insufficient data, Captain," the Vulcan replied evenly.

Kirk's eyes narrowed. He was fairly certain it wasn't a lie but he could tell an evasion when he saw one. "But you have a theory anyway, don't you?"

Spock looked a little uncomfortable. "Really, Jim, it is unprincipled to attempt an explanation without available facts."

Kirk continued to stare at him. "Well, let me try a bit of theorising of my own." He looked down at the datapadd in his hands, then his eyes snapped up to fix on Spock's face. "That Romulan Commander knew an awful lot about your people, didn't he? He quoted Surak's teachings like a devout Vulcan," he watched the First Officer's eyes drift back to meet his but he could not read any emotion in that dark gaze. "Now, either he was trying a bit of psychological warfare to rattle you, or he had a great deal of respect for Vulcan culture. And trying to rattle a man as logical as yourself, Mr Spock, would be ... quite illogical, wouldn't you say?"

Spock arched an eyebrow at him and was silent. But Kirk didn't miss the tiny twinkle of humour that briefly appeared in the Vulcan's eyes.

The smile fell off Kirk's face. "Is that possible, Spock? That a Romulan would choose to destroy his own ship, his entire crew, to grant the Federation a solid victory rather than return to Romulus and report on the status of his mission?"

Spock looked away again, his expression thoughtful, as if he was trying to decide how to answer that. "Captain," he said at last, quite formally. "If a Vulcan had a choice between bringing news that would escalate a war - potentially costing thousands, or millions, of lives - and destroying a couple of hundred lives to prevent that news from being received, the Vulcan would choose the option that cost less lives."

"Lesser of two evils, Mr Spock?" McCoy drawled dryly.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one, Doctor," Spock replied gravely. Then he gave Kirk a direct stare. "Another teaching of Surak," he explained.

"So this Commander no doubt knew it as well," it was Kirk's turn to look thoughtful. At last he stirred and looked back at Spock. "Well, Mr Spock, a fascinating mystery, wouldn't you say?"

The Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow, but Kirk could tell how intrigued his friend actually was by the Commander's behaviour. It was just as clear to the Captain that Spock did not wish to discuss the matter. He wondered why but knew he wouldn't press the matter.

"Alright, are we done here?" McCoy pushed away from the wall and walked over to them, a business-like look on his face.

Two pairs of brown eyes centred on him. "Is that your subtle method of throwing me out of Sickbay, Bones?" Kirk asked, amused.

"It's a medical decision, Jim," McCoy replied innocently. "You've got the First Officer's report. You can send it to Starfleet and they'll quit bugging my patient who - you might want to remind them - should be dead. They can therefore give credit for the existence of this report to my absolutely brilliant - and stubborn - Head Nurse."

Kirk looked at Spock with a grin. "The man has a point," he said.

"About Starfleet's persistence or the stubbornness of his Head Nurse?" the Vulcan replied blandly.

The Captain laughed. "Both, I think, Spock," he said ruefully. "Speaking of which, I notice you recommended the entire Bridge crew for commendations related to their conduct during the battle, including Nurse Chapel?"

"You disagree?" Spock asked.

"No, no. Given the reports I've read, they deserve it."

"Indeed. I did think twice about recommending, Mr Sulu, however."

Kirk looked surprised. "Why?"

The slightly long-suffering expression in the Vulcan's eyes was one he usually reserved for Doctor McCoy's teasing. "Jim," he said patiently. "May I remind you that you were _not_ on board to experience his escape manoeuvres.".

Kirk blinked, then suddenly laughed, realising it was the Vulcan's attempt at a joke. "It was that bad?" he asked.

"He and Mr Scott are not on speaking terms," was the reply that said it all.

The Captain's eyes twinkled. "Really? In that case, I had better settle that. It won't do to have the senior officers avoiding each other," he flashed an amused glance between his two friends. "You two might bicker constantly but at least you don't ignore each other."

In stereo, Kirk heard, "It's hardly bickering, Jim," and "Jim, Vulcans do not bicker," and just laughed. "Get some rest, Spock," he said. "I'll see you later," he walked out of the ICU shaking his head and still chuckling. The ship was used to professional disagreements between Spock, McCoy and Scott but, despite the rowdy working relationship, the three men were very good friends. However, the crew was not used to disharmony between the rest of the senior officers and if there was anything that could wound Scott on a personal level, it was something that had hurt his precious _Enterprise_.

It was therefore a comment the Captain needed to double-check, and it would afford Doctor McCoy the time alone with Spock he had clearly been looking for.


	23. Chapter 23

**Part 23**

For a few moments, there was peace and quiet. Spock closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing, thankful to be alone. Although Doctor McCoy had stated he wanted to speak with him, the CMO had exited the room shortly after Kirk, saying he would return shortly.

Uncertain of what McCoy was up to, he tried to relax. He was never fond of Sickbay at the best of times and being confined to the ICU was never the best of times. There were too many noisy machines whirring away in the background, too many people wandering in and out upon their schedules rather than his. There was no privacy.

In the silence of his own mind, he had to admit one of his big problems with Sickbay was his lack of control over the situation. Someone else was always in charge. While there were plenty of aspects of his life, both professional and personal, where he was not in charge, he was not completely removed from the decision-making processes. Sometimes he could control, at other times he could influence or advise. But he was never helpless.

In Sickbay, he was _always_ helpless.

He resisted the urge to sigh and then resisted the urge to fidget, unable to relax because he knew Doctor McCoy would shortly return. He contemplated beginning another debate about when he could leave Sickbay for the privacy of his own quarters but then he realised he didn't have the energy for it. Giving his report to Captain Kirk had been draining enough and since he had first regained consciousness two days ago, he had found himself unable to maintain alertness for long periods of time.

He knew the doctors didn't really know how to help him. No Vulcan or Rigelian had ever survived kirisine poisoning, so M'Benga and McCoy were playing it by ear. Always a lover of paying attention to what the body was trying to say, McCoy was at home with this 'wait and see' approach and M'Benga, who had spent years training on Vulcan, had also learned the value of patience. Minimal technological intervention was something Vulcans favoured as a rule. Spock, especially, preferred this approach, having discovered on more than one occasion that a disadvantage of his hybrid physiology was that some drugs needed for Vulcan or Human treatments reacted poorly when administered to him.

Of course, as this week had proven, there were distinct advantages to his hybrid physiology too.

Now that his accidental meld with Nurse Chapel had been resolved, no medical intervention had really been necessary. His vitals were being monitored, his lungs, which were still sore and functioning inadequately, were being watched closely, and his body seemed to be constantly exhausted. Spock was not used to sleeping this much but at times he had found himself unable to keep his eyes open.

The price of oxygen starvation, McCoy had suggested. He had effectively suffocated, his lungs unable to process enough oxygen, his blood unable to transport what little the lungs had provided. So the CMO had decided the best medicine for Spock would be as much sleep as his body demanded, in a place that had access to a ventilator, so he could be given extra oxygen as needed.

In the past two days, he had not needed extra oxygen and he had felt his memory and thought-processes returning to a level of efficiency he could at least tolerate, even if he wasn't quite back to normal yet. His body, however, seemed content to take its time in returning to health.

Now he was in the position of being mentally active but physically inactive. Vulcans were not supposed to get bored but Spock had to admit it. He was bored.

And being bored, he found himself thinking. For the most part, he found himself considering his duties within Science, on the Bridge and the bureaucracy that came with being First Officer. Increasingly, however, he had also been thinking about the Head Nurse. And those thoughts were making him...

He was _not_ going to use the word 'irritable'.

But she was doing it again. On the Bridge, it had felt as though they had finally put Platonius behind them, and once more found the professional rapport they had possessed before Parmen had ever complicated their lives. However, since he had released her from the meld two days ago, he had not seen her since. He knew she was back on duty. His sharp Vulcan hearing could hear her whenever she was in the next room and his door was open and he knew she had recovered from her unfortunate telepathic experience because he could hear her light-hearted teasing with her colleagues; she seemed happy. Sometimes he could hear her laugh even when the door was closed.

She had not stepped inside this room once. He might have put it down to the abhorrent behaviour he had displayed by entering her mind without her permission but he had been inside her mind when she had told him she had forgiven him for that. She had not been lying, even to herself, and so he knew she genuinely had not been disturbed by the incident.

_He_ was. He was a Vulcan and Vulcans had strict taboos and laws governing the acceptable use of telepathy. He had broken no Vulcan law because, logically speaking, he knew that Doctor M'Benga and Nurse Chapel were correct - he had been so sick no law in the Federation would have considered him of sound mind. Law was one thing. Taboo. Custom. Ethics. Now, those were something else entirely. Spock had breached a personal code. He had done something he personally found abhorrent. Just as with Platonius, the fact that she had let him off the hook only made it harder to accept.

This problem was becoming persistent, this inability to accept situations she absolved him of responsibility for. Even when logic dictated she was right.

_Especially_ when logic dictated she was right.

The fact that he was stuck in bed, unable to do anything except dwell on this, was very nearly intolerable. If he had been Human, he would have been frustrated to tears at the way his logic kept leading him around in circles over something even his emotions told him was absurdly illogical.

The reason she was avoiding him went back to Platonius again. Whatever her initial reasoning had been was once more back in force. He found that very nearly as unacceptable as the rest of his current irrational shortcomings.

"Computer, engage medical privacy seal. Authorisation: McCoy, Leonard H. Override code, Chief Medical Officer only."

Spock's eyes opened to stare curiously at the CMO. Upon seeing the Vulcan watching him, the doctor merely raised one eyebrow and flopped into the seat that Kirk had recently vacated. "Concerned I might attempt to remove myself from your presence, Doctor?" he asked a little dryly. It wasn't as if he was strong enough to walk out of here by himself anyway.

McCoy threw him a lopsided grin. "Spock, right now, a snail could outrun you. I'm not afraid of _you_ going anywhere." His eyes twinkled, more sly than amused.

Spock did not trust that expression. He felt as though they were playing a game of chess, and McCoy was several moves ahead. He did _not_ appreciate that sensation at all. Before he could respond, McCoy was speaking again.

"Well, Mr Spock," he said, the smile fading from his lips. "I've just made sure no-one will be disturbing me for a while - or you. And just to make doubly-sure that's the case, no-one's going to overhear this conversation. What gets said never leaves this room, Spock. It stays between us, doctor-patient confidentiality. No mistakes. Complete privacy."

Those pale blue eyes were watching him with a hard, unwavering confidence and it made Spock uneasy. Although this could be a professional conversation that required confidentiality, the Vulcan somehow doubted that and there were two other things he was particularly touchy about discussing, even in a private setting - his health and his personal life. The one thing Spock could, and usually did, use to escape such conversations, was to protest about breach of privacy. Before this conversation had even begun, McCoy had very effectively nailed a coffin lid over those arguments.

Whatever this conversation was about, Spock could see no logical escape. For the moment, therefore, he had no choice but to surrender. "Yes, Doctor?" he asked.

Normally, the doctor would have smiled at the victory but he didn't now, and that made Spock even more uneasy. McCoy was not known for foregoing barbs, humour and teasing unless the situation was extremely serious. And usually personal.

"Relax, Spock," the doctor said, calmly. "I'm not about to torture you with those noxious potions of mine."

One eyebrow flew up. "I am gratified to hear you finally admit their worthlessness."

A slight lopsided smile tugged at the CMO's lips. "Say, Spock, complete aside. What does the word _'t'hai'la' _mean?"

The Vulcan stared at him. Of all the questions he could have been asked, that was not one he had expected. Now thoroughly unsettled, he threw a quick look at the door then back at the doctor.

Who was still sitting there was that tiny smile on his face.

"Surely, Doctor, you did not lock me into this sterile lab you call a 'care unit' merely to ask what _'t'hai'la'_ means?" the Vulcan tried not to sound too incredulous but he was still struggling with his disciplines and his control. He knew he had given away slightly more than he would have liked to reveal.

McCoy chuckled. "I heard the word used the other day, I didn't understand the context. I thought you would." His eyes twinkled. "My logic hasn't failed me, has it, Mr Spock? You _are_ the logical person to ask, are you not?"

Spock had not realised it was possible to feel his unease increase but now he was feeling positively _nervous_. McCoy usually only threw around the word 'logic' to bait him or trap him. He valiantly fought back the urge to sigh. "It has several meanings, Doctor, depending on context. What was the context?"

"Don't know," McCoy lied cheerfully. "Give me the meanings, and I'll see what I can make of the context."

Spock stared at him. The Vulcan ability to sniff out the lies of others was often underestimated because Vulcans themselves were so determined to avoid lying. It was a misconception his people were quite content to encourage. The trouble was, although he could tell McCoy had just lied to him, he couldn't understand why.

"There are three specific uses for the word," he said slowly, as he tried to find a way to explain it in terms a Human could understand. "A _t'hai'la_ may be someone a person regards as a brother. They will not be related by blood, but they are brothers in all other ways.."

"Like you and Jim?" The CMO asked curiously.

Spock shot him a very sharp look but the doctor's face was completely innocent. If this conversation was a trap, Spock could not currently see the bars. He mulled over the response he should give, then decided to settle for simplicity. "Yes."

McCoy nodded. "Okay, that's a bit like the concept of a "blood-brother" or a "shield-brother" in old Earth terms."

"Perhaps," Spock said cautiously. "But it does not have to be associated with a bonding forged through war, violence or bloodshed," he watched McCoy raise an eyebrow but the doctor was silent, waiting for Spock to continue. The Vulcan warily watched him for a moment longer, then did so. "The term can also be used for a very close, intimate friendship ..."

"Intimate friendship?"

Spock threw him another piercing stare but again the doctor's face was the picture of attentive curiosity. Again, he resisted the urge to sigh and tried to push away the illogical sense of foreboding he had regarding this discussion. "There are many different types of intimacy, Doctor. Just because Humans are preoccupied with certain kinds does not mean all species are."

McCoy grinned. "Of course not, Mr Spock. What's the third one?"

"I think the exact comparison would be a 'lover'."

This time McCoy did blink in surprise. "As in ...?"

A faint hint of amusement appeared in the Vulcan's eyes. He was familiar with the rumours that existed about Vulcans. Having served with Humans for so long, he had not been able to avoid hearing them. "Yes," he said evenly. "It can refer to a spouse, a bondmate or ... a lover."

"Never pegged Vulcans as the kind to go in for sex-before-marriage, Spock," McCoy's eyes twinkled. "So which definition am I?"

The Vulcan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"M'Benga said that because Jim and I attended your wedding, we were regarded as _t'hai'la_ in the eyes of Vulcan. Which definition applied to Jim was obvious, so I was wondering which definition applied to me," he watched a flicker of horrified realisation dawn in Spock's eyes and exerted every ounce of willpower he possessed to avoid grinning.

Spock looked away. "Doctor, this has been machiavellian. Even for you."

This time McCoy did grin. "Only way to get anything out of you, you pointy-eared hobgoblin." A hint of affection escaped him before he continued on, his tone suddenly more business-like. "Anyway, the subject I actually wanted to discuss with you was personnel-related."

The Vulcan jumped slightly and his gaze snapped back to McCoy, clearly startled to discover that the doctor wasn't going to push for a reply to his question. And suddenly, he found himself wondering why McCoy had asked if he had not wanted an answer. It did not make sense. This entire situation did not make sense.

Again the doctor resisted a grin. He had the First Officer completely off-balance, and that was exactly what he needed him to be if this conversation was ever going to work. Then he leaned forward, focused on the task at hand. "As Chief Medical Officer, part of my job is to monitor how the interpersonal relationships of the crew affect their health, and the health of others. If personal, or professional, relationships are being negatively impacted, especially in terms of well-being, I have a duty to intervene. As First Officer, you have a similar responsibility to the crew."

For a Vulcan, Spock looked baffled. "I am on medical leave, Doctor, why address this with me?"

"Because the problem is in Science and Medical. Since we're the two heads of those departments, we're going to have confront this together. Now, we could resolve this - with your permission - while you're still laid up, or wait until you're back on your feet to handle the matter directly. It suits me either way, so it really depends on how you wish to approach the subject."

Spock studied the doctor curiously. "The matter is serious?"

"It has been ongoing for a while. Jim has been content to let the personnel concerned try and resolve it themselves but it doesn't look like that will happen any time soon. I don't know about you, Mr Spock, but I like to keep my department as efficient as possible."

Spock churned that over in his mind. Within Science, he could not think of any crewmember who was under-performing, except for three individuals. Two had temporary medical reasons and one was struggling with a very recent bereavement. All three cases were therefore accounted for. "Has Medical been suffering a loss of efficiency?" he asked curiously.

"For the most part, no. Very recently, there were a few days where there was a significant interference, however. And to be honest with you, I want to make sure it never happens again."

One eyebrow rose. "Indeed, Doctor. As I have noticed no such loss of efficiency in Science, I do not know to whom you refer."

The CMO's gaze was piercing as he studied Spock in silence for a moment, then he nodded. "Personnel names: Commander Spock, Nurse Chapel."

The Vulcan blinked once. His face froze.

McCoy studied that reaction for a moment, then leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. He waited.

The dark eyes fixed the CMO, almost obsidian shards in their intensity and when he spoke his voice was slightly off-note, the tone he always had when he was attempting to appear unaffected by the discussion topic. "Explain."

McCoy continued to watch him for a moment longer, just long enough to see the First Officer shift slightly, uncomfortably, from the scrutiny. Then he spoke. "Your individual performances are fine, Spock. It's when you're in the same room together that things go pear-shaped. The two of you have partnered for research purposes only twice in the past three months and, ignoring the recent battle, Nurse Chapel has attended your medical needs only once. Other nurses have done so instead," he unfolded his arms and leaned forward. "It's all quite subtle. I'm sure most people aren't even aware of it. However, my problem stems from the past five days. That telepathic stunt you pulled, Spock. It kept my Head Nurse off duty for two days. I can ill-afford that at any time - but most especially in the aftermath of a dogfight."

Spock swallowed. "Yes, that was unintentional. It was not my intent to forge any kind of telepathic connection with Miss Chapel at all. I was not consciously aware I had done so until it was made clear to me."

"You damn near made a patient of her too, Spock!" The doctor snapped. "The woman saved that blasted green hide of yours. It was a damn fool way to repay her."

Part of Spock, something deep and primal, buried by a lifetime's worth of training and habit, chained but never tamed, was beginning to stir restlessly in response to the tone the CMO was taking with him. It resented the subject matter as something that was not any business of his, that he had no right to judge or interfere with. Fortunately, however, it was not a part of him that had any control and so he ignored the sensation. Instead, he looked away, avoiding McCoy's gaze. "I am aware, Doctor," he agreed softly at last. "It was unacceptable behaviour. I have no excuse."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You were dying, Spock. You and she both did what was needed to save your life. Give yourself a damn break. That's not my point."

The Vulcan's gaze drifted back to him, confused again. "Then what is, Doctor?"

McCoy's eyes narrowed. He started to respond, almost instinctively - or so it appeared to Spock. But he caught himself and hesitated, as if mulling over what he had been about to say. Then his lips thinned slightly, and he grinned. A small, nasty grin. "Let me put it terms I _know_ a Vulcan will understand - and accept." He leaned forward again, eyes fixed on Spock's face, holding his gaze as if by an invisible, unyielding force. "Mr Spock, your logic is uncertain where Nurse Chapel is concerned."

McCoy leaned back against his chair again, once more folding his arms. His gaze, however, was unwavering - and slightly unsettling. The CMO had a very intimidating stare when he chose to use it. Not that Spock would ever have admitted to being intimidated. Especially not when McCoy was the cause.

The doctor knew more about Vulcans than he had been letting on, Spock realised. He did not know if that had been due to a professional urge to meet the medical needs of a Vulcan patient, or whether he had been talking to M'Benga in preparation for this conversation. He found himself staring at the door that lead to the world outside the room he was in. The door he could not reach because he was too weak, the door he could not have opened anyway because even a first officer could not override the CMO's medical authority.

McCoy had used the code phrase. The wide-spread, commonly used, code-phrase. Vulcans did not admit to emotional concerns or attachments in public. They rarely did so in private either. Even with those they were closest to, such discussions would often refer to emotions in a vague manner, concentrating on an action or consequence, rather than voicing the emotion itself. Emotion made logic uncertain and when it was impossible to avoid a direct acknowledgement of that fact, this was the terminology used.

The CMO had known that. He had avoided his usual Human outburst, knowing Spock would have deflected it, lost interest in it, and evaded it. Instead he had gone straight for the Vulcan approach. The understated confession that did not refer to emotion while allowing emotion to take centre stage. And Spock could either agree with his assessment, or he could deny it. One answer would be a lie, one would be truth. Worse, one would deny logic, one would accept logic.

McCoy had planned this conversation well, the Vulcan reflected with a resigned sigh. And there really wasn't much he could do about that. He glanced back at the doctor's face, and saw by his expression that McCoy had correctly interpreted the sigh. "Yes," he agreed finally. "It is."

The CMO nodded slowly. "It always has been. Since I've known you both. It's not a recent concern."

The Vulcan shifted slightly again. "Where is this conversation going, Doctor?" his voice was a little sharper than he had intended.

"Spock, you two have had quite a few ups and downs over the years. You were both engaged to other people when you met. There was that Psi 2000 virus, the Omicron spores, you physically throwing her out of your quarters, that bizarre episode with Henoch ..."

Spock blinked once. "I am aware that Henoch manipulated her mind when she discovered his plans but I was not aware he did anything else to her."

"He didn't. But he zeroed in on her from the second he took over your body. I never could work that out."

"That is easily clarified," Spock said, his voice a little dry. "During the transferral of consciousness from body to receptacle, there was a moment when both consciousness' became one and knew everything there was to know about the other. I was in no position to warn anyone and I could no more protect my mind from him than he could from me. He therefore awoke in my body already knowing two things about her: that she was very good at interpreting my mind and motives and that she was an extremely intelligent scientist."

"In short, he knew at once she would be a big threat to him," McCoy said sourly. "So he targeted her from the outset in order to neutralise that threat," he waited for Spock to nod silently in agreement then sighed. "Okay, but my point stands. No matter what happened, you two took it on the chin and got back to your normal routines." He paused.

Spock waited. The doctor merely raised an eyebrow at him. The Vulcan sighed again. Finally, he realised what the whole point of this conversation was, the subject McCoy really wanted to discuss. "Platonius?"

McCoy nodded. "Platonius," he agreed. His own voice was slightly bitter. He did not have good memories of that planet either. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. "What the devil's been going on since Platonius, Spock?"

Spock closed his eyes wearily, not certain whether his condition was catching up with him or whether the question itself was making him feel so exhausted. "I do not know."

McCoy dropped his hand back to his lap. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

The First Officer opened his eyes and gave him a steady look. "Precisely what I said, Doctor," he responded curtly. "She has made a decision to avoid me. You have observed this yourself. I do not know what to make of it. Except perhaps to conclude that she holds me responsible for what happened on the planet - but I have sensed no blame from her. I have no answers."

The CMO was shaking his head before Spock had finished speaking. "The one thing I can safely say is that she doesn't blame you for what happened on that planet. That's the one thing we all seem to agree on. It's their damn fault this happened to us. _We_ are not to blame." His eyes swept over the bedridden Vulcan's form for a moment, his gaze analytical and penetrating. "Why do you think Parmen made her dress up as a Vulcan?"

Spock's eyes narrowed at both the tone and the expression. "I do not know the answer to that either," his tone was slightly ominous, as if daring McCoy to contradict him.

The doctor's lips curled into a sardonic grin at the First Officer's defensiveness. "Well, I'll tell you what I think it is. I think Chris has decided the only woman you'll have in your life is a Vulcan and she doesn't stand a chance because she's Human," he watched Spock's eyebrow rise slightly. "Is there any truth in that, Mr Spock?"

The Vulcan blinked. "I would not know, Doctor. I have already said I do not--"

"Don't play smart with me, you green-blooded son of a--," McCoy's voice was a low hiss and he was suddenly leaning far forward, sitting on the edge of his seat. Instinctively, Spock jerked backwards against the propped-up head of his bed as if he could escape the looming doctor. He failed, and felt his stomach churn with a nausea that had nothing to do with the conversation. He swallowed back bile and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, feeling his lungs constrict painfully with the effort.

Doctor McCoy was muttering and he could hear the soft buzz of the mediscanner but he didn't open his eyes, concentrating instead on fighting for control over his stomach contents. It was several moments before he could relax and remove his attention from his labouring body and back to the doctor, who was peering at him with a worried expression on his face.

"Welcome back," McCoy said, his voice much lighter than his expression. "How are you feeling?"

Spock swallowed again, his eyes fluttering closed again. "I am ... fine now, Doctor, thank you."

McCoy snorted. "Sure you are, Spock," he replied in a disbelieving tone. "I'm going to cut this short. You could use the rest - between us, Jim and I have kept you up far too long."

"I am not tired." The moment Spock said it, he realised he had made a mistake. He was exhausted. And McCoy knew it.

"Spock, get some sleep. We can discuss this another time."

"I do not think we can. I do not think we will." Spock's eyes snapped opened and he gave the doctor a calm, even stare and the CMO immediately understood the warning. Spock was _not_ going to allow McCoy to trap him into this kind of conversation in future. If the doctor walked out of the room now, the subject would be forever dropped. He had temporarily breached the Vulcan walls but once they were rebuilt, they would not come down again. What interested the doctor, however, was that now the subject was being aired, Spock clearly _was_ willing to see it through to the end.

For a moment, the doctor waged a silent war with himself. In the end, he sighed and nodded, concluding that the long-term mental well-being of two people was more important than a temporary inconvenience for one person. He grinned at himself sardonically. What was it that Spock had said about the needs of the many? When he saw Spock raise an eyebrow, clearly not understanding the smile, McCoy refocused and pulled the chair a little closer, sitting down. "Alright, you win, we finish this - then you rest."

"Acceptable," was all the Vulcan said.

For a moment, neither man said anything, silently studying the other as if gladiators sizing up the opponent on the opposite of the arena. In one sense, that image summarised their entire relationship. In another sense, it didn't even come close to explaining the complicated dynamic that existed between the pair.

"So," McCoy said, breaking the silence first. "If you think it's impossible for a Human female to live up to the demands of Vulcan society, how come your mother has managed it?"

Spock's eyebrow rose slowly. In fact, McCoy could not remember a time when it had risen so hesitantly. "I have never thought the concept of a Human female surviving the demands of Vulcan society to be an impossible one. As you say, it would be illogical for me to reach such a conclusion."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. There was an undercurrent to that reply, something unsaid that he was struggling to pin down. "You think some women could pull it off but not others?"

"Correct." Spock was giving nothing away in his expression.

The doctor continued staring at him. "Could Chris?" His eyes narrowed abruptly. "Could _Leila_?"

Spock's eyes widened slightly. He was silent for several moments, expression thoughtful. "No, Doctor, Doctor Kalomi most certainly could not have coped with the demands of Vulcan society. She could not cope with my being half-Vulcan, if you recall."

"I do recall," McCoy retorted. "I was wondering if _you_ did."

"Ah, I believe I understand," the Vulcan nodded calmly, then his gaze grew distant, as if trying to grasp for something his companion could not hope to comprehend. At last, he nodded faintly, as if reaching a decision, and he looked back at the doctor. "My logic is more certain where Doctor Kalomi is concerned than where Nurse Chapel is concerned."

McCoy stared at him incredulously for a moment, as if he had not expected that reply at all. He almost laughed but then something seemed to occur to him and he gave the Vulcan a long, appraising stare. "Alright, so if Christine's ability to cope with Vulcan society is not the issue, what is?"

There was silence for a few moments, then Spock returned to gazing at the door. McCoy was not certain whether that gesture was a sign the Vulcan wanted to escape the conversation or whether he was searching for the correct way to frame his response. As the moments slipped by and the silence grew more oppressive, the doctor began to consider the possibility it was the former.

Eventually, the Vulcan's lips pressed tightly together, almost pensively. He turned and gave McCoy a direct stare. "You should understand, Doctor, that I, personally, do not have any particular objection to Nurse Chapel."

McCoy returned the stare. His gaze was unwavering but his expression was puzzled, as if he was trying to understand what it was that Spock could not tell him. "Spock," he said at last, "If there is no objection to a man as important as your father having a Human mate, who would object to you having one as well?"

There was silence and eventually the doctor realised this was not something Spock was going to answer. He studied the pallid face curiously for a while and watched as the Vulcan studiously avoided returning his gaze, instead studying the far end of the bed as if it was the most fascinating object in the universe. The CMO sighed as he realised he was going to have to work this out for himself. Spock had been much more forthcoming than he had expected but even in an honest conversation, the Vulcan wasn't going to make the discussion easy.

He pursed his lips, thinking. He was fairly confident that Amanda had not had an easy life as the wife of a Vulcan, especially one as important as Sarek. However, he was also fairly certain that even if some Vulcans had objected not all would have. The vast majority of objections to such a marriage would be entirely emotional. There were very few logical objections available to a culture that firmly believed in the concept of 'Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations'. After all, the ultimate expression of this concept was found in a cross-species mating and the raising of offspring from such a union to be a productive member of multiple societies. Surely Spock, who adhered to the principles of one society and nevertheless functioned perfectly well within a second society, was proof that IDIC could work, and work well?

And yet, McCoy had been present at Spock's wedding. He therefore _knew_ that there were objections to Spock's lifestyle - to his very existence. But in a society that considered the theory of IDIC to be logical, surely objecting to the practice of IDIC was completely illogical? The doctor personally didn't care how T'Pring or Spock had worded it, he didn't believe for one moment T'Pring's explanation had been logical - to him it had smacked of emotionalism and bigoted emotionalism at that. To object to a bloodline, to object to a reputation, and not acknowledge or even attempt to know the real man behind both, stank of the irrational. Decisions based on first impressions, gossip-mongering - nothing concrete, no evidence. Completely illogical.

Which meant that if Spock did not object to Nurse Chapel herself, he objected to ...

The CMO froze. Surely not? His gaze lifted to stare at the First Officer of the Federation's flagship, studying that calm face, the smooth features. A Starfleet Commander who could face down the enemies of the Federation, protect the lives of hundreds of people under his command, make the harshest of decisions in the interests of saving lives or preventing wars, who was in a position to make decisions that could _cause_ wars. The man who was directly descended from one of the greatest pacifists in the Alpha Quadrant, who was the son of one of the most important ambassadors in Federation history, who was heir to one of the most powerful families on the entire planet of Vulcan.

But it was the only answer that made sense. Except ... it didn't make any sense whatsoever.

"Spock," McCoy said very slowly. He paused until the Vulcan's gaze lifted to meet his own - the expression blank, unreadable. "Are you saying you believe _you_ don't deserve _her_?"

The Vulcan's expression was completely bland. "I do not believe I said that at all, Doctor," he murmured placidly.

And then it clicked. It was ridiculous. It was illogical. But it did make sense. McCoy leaned forward. "Okay, there's a lot about Vulcan society I don't understand, so bear with me here, Mr Spock," he paused as if gathering his thoughts but really was pausing to see what Spock's reaction was. The Vulcan was slightly curious but otherwise carefully neutral. "Vulcans are obliged to follow the teachings of Surak, yes?"

Spock studied him thoughtfully. "Yes," he agreed.

"Right. And they're expected to be driven by logic and not emotion, am I right?"

"You are."

"And one of the teachings of Surak is that infinite diversity in infinite combinations is to be encouraged, protected and supported. Yes?"

One eyebrow arched. "Yes."

"So, any true follower of Surak cannot possibly have any logical reason to object to the son of two races?"

Spock stared. Then his lips twitched faintly. "No logical reason," he agreed calmly.

"And in accordance with IDIC, any child born of such a union would find it logical to equally support both of his inherited cultures?"

This time, he thought the Vulcan looked slightly wary. "Logically speaking, that is correct," he agreed cautiously, as if expecting McCoy to try and trap him somehow.

McCoy almost smiled. "And therefore it is illogical for _anyone_ to ignore the validity of both sides of such a child's heritage?"

Spock almost looked nervous. This time, he did not visibly respond but watched McCoy curiously, as if waiting to see where he was going with this.

The doctor again resisted the urge to grin. But he did lean forward and pin the Vulcan to his own bed with an icy blue stare. "Does that not therefore mean it is equally valid for such a child to choose a mate from _either_ parental culture? Or even, in the interests of IDIC, a culture that has nothing to do with either parent?"

Spock's lips almost twitched but he seemed as determined to avoid humour as the doctor was. "Theoretically speaking, your extrapolation is a logical one," he agreed after a moment.

"Of course it is, Spock," McCoy said impatiently. "The fact is, that a full-blooded Vulcan can take a full-blooded Human mate without any betrayal of Surak's teachings precisely because it defends, protects, and even proves, the theory of IDIC. Therefore, if a full-blooded Vulcan can take a Human mate by such logic, so can a half-Vulcan. Anyone who objects on the grounds the mate is Human rather than Vulcan is being illogical."

Spock thought it over. "It's not as simple as you think it is, Doctor," he said at last.

"Of course it is," McCoy said flatly. "Anyone who complains about a Vulcan taking a non-Vulcan mate is being emotional. It's a fact, Mr Spock. You can't escape it. If the foundation of your society is the support of infinite diversity in infinite combinations, when those combinations and that diversity actually occur, you cannot logically object to it. It cannot be supportable when a full-Vulcan does it and then unacceptable when a half-Vulcan does it. That's not just illogical. It's hypocrisy. It's emotionalism. It's a betrayal of your entire society to object," his eyes narrowed at the Vulcan." Which means, Spock, it's not a question of whether Christine feels she can measure up to the demands of Vulcan society - it's a question of whether _you_ feel _you_ can. And you're not listening to the logic of your society, you're listening to those bigoted, emotional, illogical individuals who cannot follow their own cultural demands. They're the failures, Spock - not you."

He waited for a moment. The eyebrow shot up as expected. He grinned. "Am I wrong?"

Spock turned everything the doctor had said over in his mind. He really wanted to object. On the grounds that he knew what his own society was like, he needed to object. The trouble was ... nothing McCoy had said was a lie. Which raised troubling questions about his own society that he was not certain he wanted to face.

Which was also illogical. Vulcan logic could, after all, be boiled down to that one simple concept: _Kaiidth._ Accept it. Move on.

McCoy was stating that Nurse Chapel was the logical choice.

It was the argument Sarek had used for claiming Amanda.

And that argument had been accepted.

It was also distracting them from the real issue. "Doctor," Spock said calmly. "As fascinating as your attempts to use logic always are to witness, I must ask what this has to do with Nurse Chapel appearing before Parmen looking like a Vulcan. Or her subsequent behaviour."

That brought McCoy up short. Spock was right. The only thing this conversation had proven was that the Vulcan had definitely _not_ been to blame for the nurse's appearance on the planet. And that the aftermath of Platonius had caused Spock fewer problems than it had caused Chapel.

"Doctor, is it normal, in Human culture, for blondes to be preferable mate-choices over brunettes?"

The CMO's eyes almost bugged out of his head at that question. "What the devil does _that_ mean, Spock?" he demanded incredulously.

The Vulcan turned the question over in his mind. "As I understand it, Nurse Chapel is a natural brunette. At some point, she dyed her hair blonde to become more attractive to male Humans. As soon as the Platonius debriefing was completed, she returned to her natural brunette colour ... I believe she did so to avoid male attention. As we know, Doctor, her decision has actually increased male attention."

The doctor stared at the Vulcan for a few moments as if trying to work out the motivation for the question. There were no clues on the bland face that sat across the bed from him, however, and the voice was utterly inflectionless. "Well, Spock, I don't pretend to be an expert in why women dye their hair, but there is an old joke on Earth about men preferring blondes," he commented wryly. " I noticed she changed her hair colour right after the debriefing as well. And she does seem _very _annoyed by all the male interest in her. Which suggests that's not the effect she was going for." His eyes narrowed at the Vulcan. "In the spirit of our current cooperation, I'm going to assume your reason for asking this question is _not_ jealousy."

One eyebrow flew up. "Certainly not, Doctor." It was as indignant as McCoy had ever heard him. The Vulcan seemed to realise that because he paused for a moment to take a deep breath and reassert control. "You stated you were raising this subject in the interests of protecting professional conduct. Am I to assume you have a suggestion on how to resolve it?"

McCoy was silent for several moments, contemplating how the First Officer had managed to change the subject without really changing the subject. The doctor studied him thoughtfully. He had several possible options but suspected only one of them would meet with approval. "I do," he said. "Confront her about Platonius. She won't talk to anyone. Maybe she doesn't need to talk to anyone. But she _does _need someone to tell her that ..." suddenly he arched an eyebrow and grinned. "Well, Mr Spock, that she's being illogical!"

"By 'someone' you mean me."

The CMO nodded, a little more seriously. "Her friends have tried. I've tried. She won't admit anything to any of us. In the end, what it's really about is the two of you. You are, Mr Spock, the logical choice."

The Vulcan's eyebrows knotted together slightly. "Doctor McCoy," he said evenly. "I believe you have discussed logic enough for one day."

The CMO laughed. "Is that your not-so-polite way of telling me this conversation is over?"

"Is it not?"

The doctor stared intently at the Vulcan for a moment. The Vulcan gazed blandly back. Currently, the only thing McCoy could see in Spock's dark eyes was weariness. "Will you talk to her?"

"I will."

There was, the doctor noticed, no hesitation in the Vulcan's response. He nodded and rose. "In that case, yes, Spock, this conversation's over." He raised his eyes to check the monitors and out of the corner of his eyes caught the First Officer's valiant attempt to hide a yawn. "In the mean time, you should get some beauty sleep," he smirked. "Heaven knows you need it."

"If I am correct, Doctor McCoy," came the immediate retort. "The appropriate Human response would refer to black pots and kettles."

McCoy stared incredulously at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. With one eyebrow raised, Spock watched the chortling CMO struggle to get the computer to recognise his voice, before the doctor finally managed to release the medical lock on the door and leave him in peace.

When the CMO poked his head back around the door ten minutes later, the Vulcan was flat out and sound asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Part 24**

Chapel was humming lightly to herself as she carefully rearranged the surgical trays in Sickbay. It was the first day since the confrontation with the Romulans that things had been approaching normality in Sickbay. While they still had more than the average amount of patients, they were no longer rushed off their feet.

She was enjoying the chance to relax.

"Ah, Chris, there you are!"

Chapel sighed. _So much for relaxing,_ she muttered in the silence of her mind and turned to regard McCoy's approach with slightly raised eyebrows. "Doctor?"

He handed her the datapadd he was carrying. "I've got a hell of a report to finish for Starfleet Medical, Chris, so I need you to collect some patient readings for me."

She accepted the datapadd and looked down at the information, saw Commander Spock's name on the file. She pursed her lips and frowned at her boss. "Doctor, I was in the middle of something myself. Surely Watkins ..."

"Handling a call out in Engineering," McCoy replied cheerfully.

"Johnson ..."

"Off duty."

"Adams ..."

"Helping M'Benga prep for surgery."

Chapel stared incredulously at him. "What about--?"

"Nurse Chapel," McCoy leaned in slightly, his best Chief Medical Officer expression in full force. "Is there some reason you are incapable of handling a single patient?"

Her shoulders slumped. He was right, there wasn't any reason. Nothing professional, anyway. She sighed. She was far too good at her job to allow her personal issues to affect her work like this. She should have known better. "No, Doctor," she said, more calmly than she felt. "No reason at all."

"Good," he said and turning on his heel, strode back off to his office.

She looked at the trays for a moment, then back at the report. With a sigh, she double-checked there was nothing sharp or dangerous left lying around and then walked through Sickbay to the ICU rooms. Maybe it had been wishful thinking to hope she could escape having to deal with Spock during his stay in Sickbay. There was only a finite number of medical personnel, after all.

When she stepped into ICU 1, she noticed that Spock was lying very still and had his eyes closed. However, his bed was propped up, and his breathing did not strike her as one of his normal sleep patterns, so she suspected he was wide awake or meditating. She glanced around the room, and her lips twisted slightly. She had never known a time when Spock had meditated within Sickbay.

"Doctor McCoy asked me to take your readings," she said calmly, walking to the base of the bed to begin the task. "I won't be long."

"Doctor McCoy asked you?"

The nurse looked up from her padd to study him. He was sitting forward slightly and she noticed his face no longer held that off-green pallid expression of the past few days. _His nausea must have finally gone,_ she concluded analytically. He also looked puzzled as he studied her. She wondered why. "Yes, sir," she clarified and dropped her gaze back to the padd.

"Are my readings still being taken every three hours?"

A little surprised by his question, she accessed his file to double-check the frequency of the readings. "Yes ..." she began, then froze. According to the file in front of her, the last readings taken for the sick Vulcan had been ten minutes ago. By Doctor McCoy himself.

"Excuse me," she muttered. "There appears to have been a mix-up," she turned to leave.

"Nurse Chapel."

She came to a full stop without even thinking about it. His command tone had that effect on the entire crew, but she still hated the fact it could work so successfully on her. Here she was, trying to escape from his room, and he was able to keep her there by the power of his voice alone. If this little game of avoidance she had been playing had any unwritten rules, then she was fairly certain he was cheating.

She turned around and gave him her best Head Nurse stare. "Commander Spock?" That was her best Head Nurse tone as well.

He resisted an illogical urge to squirm. He wondered if she was aware of how ... guilty she could make people feel when she wanted to. Even when they had done nothing wrong. He did not, however, have any intention of letting her see his sudden discomfort, so he merely arched an eyebrow at her instead. One designed to remind her of who the ranking officer in the room actually was.

Her gaze was unwavering. She really was one of the few on board he could not intimidate. He sighed audibly. "Nurse, is it normal for Doctor McCoy to make such an error?" he asked calmly.

She blinked slowly. "No," she admitted reluctantly after a moment. "Never."

"Then," the Vulcan said wryly. "I submit that Doctor McCoy concocted a spurious reason to send you in here deliberately."

Her eyes narrowed at him. Those blue orbs were beginning to glitter quite dangerously, he noticed. "That did occur," she agreed quietly.

"Do you know why?"

"I was just about to go and ask him, sir," her voice was beginning to lower the temperature in the room by several degrees.

"I suspect I already know the answer," he gestured to the seat that was next to his bed. "Sit down, Nurse."

Chapel stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He merely arched an eyebrow at her, as if he couldn't understand what was so difficult to comprehend about his statement.

"Mr Spock," she said, her tone somewhat distant. "I am on duty. I don't have time to visit with patients."

"Incorrect, Miss Chapel. By the orders of the Chief Medical Officer himself, you are required to spend the next 13.3 minutes within this room. Please be seated."

The nurse stared at him in disbelief. "I don't think that argument is entirely logical," she stated at length.

"Then by all means take the readings while we talk," he leaned forward again and this time his eyes were dark, no nonsense - his First Officer mask in full force. "Rest assured, Miss Chapel, we _will_ talk."

She felt a slight shiver of unease slither down her spine at his tone. "Talk about what, Mr Spock?" but she found herself moving forwards, back to the base of his bed, to monitor the readings that really didn't need monitoring at all. He didn't comment on that but relaxed back against the bed, apparently satisfied that she wasn't going to bolt out the room.

"You are aware, Nurse, that part of the duty of the First Officer is to ensure the professional relationships of the crew function at optimal efficiency?"

She lifted her gaze from her padd to eye him. It was a rather clinical description, but she was fully aware of his role in that regard. She had also noticed that he was surprisingly good at it. It was surprising because he was a Vulcan who disavowed any knowledge of, or tolerance for, emotion. And yet, while the vast majority of the crew did not pretend to understand the Vulcan, they _did_ trust him. It was an odd dynamic but one that seemed to work well for the entire ship.

Seeing that he had her attention, he continued. "It has been brought to my attention that you are having difficulties with a member of the Science Department. Were I not the First Officer, I would still have to address this matter in my purview as Science Officer. Do you understand my dilemma?"

She thought swiftly. There was only one person within Science she was having any current difficulties with and she was fairly certain there was only a very small number of people on board who were aware of that fact. She was also fairly certain that only one of them would have been likely to have spoken to Spock about it. Given his part in her problem, and his position on board the ship, she definitely _could_ see his dilemma. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I have a feeling I'll need to sit down for this," she mumbled.

"That is advisable," he agreed quietly as Chapel slid into the chair she had previously resisted taking. The nurse shot him a quick look, not certain what to make of the tone of his voice, and spotted a very small twinkle of sympathy in that dark and watchful gaze.

"Doctor McCoy's put the thumbscrews on you, hasn't he, Mr Spock?"

His lips pursed. In his eyes, amusement flickered into life for a moment and then died utterly. "In fact, Nurse," he said, so quietly, she had to strain her hearing to catch the words. "I believe he has done us both a favour," he looked up sharply as she began to speak and she subsided, sensing now was not a good time to interrupt. "He addressed his concerns with me while I am removed from active duty. This is therefore not an official complaint - yet."

She swallowed, understanding. McCoy was giving them as long as Spock's medical leave lasted to resolve the issue. She had an untainted service record to date, she certainly did not want her first black mark to be an inability to work with a commanding officer just because she had less-than-professional feelings for him. And she had done so very well for two years. It was only since Platonius ... her thoughts froze. She looked up abruptly and stared at him. "This is about Platonius, isn't it?" she demanded, coming to her feet.

He tensed. "Miss Chapel, please sit down," he said softly.

"No!" Her refusal was absentminded, as if she was not aware she had spoken aloud. She turned on her heel and, for a moment, he thought she was going to march straight out of the room. Instead, she began to pace restlessly before his bed. "Look, Mr Spock. What happened down there was no-one's fault except the Platonians, wasn't it?" she didn't wait for his response but carried on, her voice agitated, her fingers alternately curling and uncurling around the datapadd she was holding. "They are to blame. Not us. We were all victims. We have nothing to apologise for. Do we? It's illogical for any of us to take the blame, isn't it?"

"Then why do you persist in blaming yourself?"

Her eyes darted up to find his stare fixed on her face, intense, unwavering. She couldn't read any emotions in gaze, she could only tell that it was implacable. His mood was ... implacable. Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her eyes and started pacing again. "No," she objected. "That's not true. I don't blame myself anymore. I did. I couldn't believe I was forced to do ... that you were ... well, you know. But I tried to stop it and wasn't strong enough. I hate that I wasn't strong enough. I hate that you weren't strong enough - and I know you hated that too. You apologised enough for it. And I knew it was stupid and illogical for you to apologise. And if it was illogical for you to apologise, then it was illogical for me to apologise too. It's a funny thing, this logic of yours, Mr Spock. Sometimes it's actually quite helpful."

He blinked. She wasn't responding quite the way he had expected. He closed his eyes against the sight of her pacing. One of the main reasons he was still in ICU despite being conscious and stable was because his mind was still having trouble processing external stimuli. Too much visual activity had been making him light-headed, dizzy and even nauseous at times. It was as if his mind was trying to run a marathon and was not yet strong enough to complete the distance. The ICU was currently the most quiet, least stimulating location in Sickbay. Her pacing now was making his head spin.

"Nurse," he said softly. "Please stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" She looked up, saw his eyes were closed and his face was very pale and suddenly realised what she was doing. "Oh God, I'm so sorry," she flung herself down into the seat. "I didn't realise. I didn't mean to make things worse for you," she rose again. "Mr Spock, it's not a good idea to do this now. You're not strong enough ..."

His eyes snapped opened to pierce her. "Miss Chapel," he said, his tone firm. "If I can justify my behaviour to the Captain and put up with an interrogation from Doctor McCoy, I am most certainly strong enough to complete _this_ conversation. Sit down."

It wasn't a request.

Chapel sighed heavily and sat down. "Well ... we should try and keep it brief then," she muttered. It was mostly a professional concern. He still tired easily and she was not going to be the one responsible for allowing him to become dangerously exhausted.

"Conversations of this nature are usually best concluded quickly," he agreed and she was surprised to find that small flicker of amusement had reappeared in his eyes. Again, it didn't last. He sighed. "It is illogical to prevaricate and that is what I am doing. I will come to the point. I have one specific concern about the events on Platonius," he paused studying her face. "Given your behaviour during, and since, the debriefing, I suspect it might be the same concern you have."

During and since the debriefing? She thought back to that debriefing three months ago, trying to work out what exactly his concern could be. Then she remembered. Doctor McCoy's announcement, the look in the First Officer's eyes when it was revealed her Vulcan appearance had come out of her mind. Her face froze. Of all the things she did not want to discuss, that was the one she wanted most to avoid.

He watched her entire body tense up so completely it seemed ready to snap at the lightest pressure and knew he was on the right path. Or the wrong one, depending on point of view - he did not appreciate being the one to inflict discomfort on her, so he asked the question before he could think of a logical reason not to.

"What was in your mind that Parmen could use to make you appear Vulcan?"

Her fingers tightened around the datapadd in her hand so fiercely that they blanched white and her eyes were lowered to her lap to avoid looking at him. Her cheeks drained of all colour and then, quite suddenly, flushed scarlet. "It's personal, Mr Spock," she whispered at last, her voice barely audible even to his Vulcan hearing. "It's ... it's a private matter."

Just like McCoy, the Vulcan mused. She had evoked a Vulcan turn of phrase. McCoy had done it to encourage honesty and now she was doing it to encourage him to back off from the subject. Every Vulcan fibre of his being was telling him to do exactly that, to end the conversation, let it drop, that he had breached her privacy too much recently as it stood. With an effort of will, he ignored those hidden voices and forged on. "Is it preferable to conduct this in private with myself as your only audience, or more publicly, to have it on record, because someone made a formal complaint about your conduct?"

She flinched and her eyes shot up to stare incredulously at him. For a moment, he even saw a hint of tears in the back of her gaze and this time, he looked away. He knew why she was so shocked. It was bitterly cruel of him to have said that, almost blackmail. He thought back to that day on the Bridge when she poured all of the strength she possessed into him to keep him alive, and again, a few days later when he had regained consciousness inside her mind, and realised he was still feeding off that strength. He wondered if he was finally shaking her faith in him now.

He took a deep breath and felt his lungs twinge with the effort. Composing himself behind his rigid First Officer's mask, he returned his attention to her face and felt the mask almost shatter at what he found.

There _were_ tears in her eyes but not a single one had fallen. Her eyes were glowing in the room's artificial light, like blood-tinted crystal shards. There was a smile on her face. It was only faint, but its existence was undeniable. There was nothing vulnerable in her expression, nothing soft. The tears were tears of rage and the smile sent a chill down his spine as though someone had dropped an ice-cube down the back of his shirt.

"That's not much of a question, is it, Mr Spock?" Her voice was a whisper but one of anger. "I don't want to have this discussion with _you_ - and I think you know that. If it ended up on my record, you'd still know, and so would anyone else who read it. So, to answer your question honestly, _sir_, I don't want this discussion at all. But if you're going to end up finding out about it, I'd rather only you know than the entire galaxy."

She leaned forward, the hard glittering edge still in her expression and in her voice when she spoke. "Therefore, in the interests of keeping this conversation brief, and my answers honest, I'll be blunt. Men are attracted to the exotic in their women. There's an old joke on Earth about men preferring blondes. It's so old a joke that they've even made movies about it in the past. '_Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_', it was called. I guess that applies to Vulcans too. You do seem to have a thing for blondes, Mr Spock, but you can't seem to find a blonde in the species you really want. Parmen decided to mock us both with a single image: your perfect woman, Mr Spock - a blonde Vulcan."

Spock blinked once. He paused, turning that over in his mind and then blinked a second time. "And you dyed your hair brown because of this?"

Her smile broadened a little, hovering on the edges of a grin. "It's my natural colour, Mr Spock. I _am_ a brunette. I wore my hair as a blonde for a few years to have fun. Not to be a canvas for someone else's secret fantasies in a public circus act." She glared angrily at him for several moments, then sat back, and folded her arms across her chest, leaving the datapadd on her lap. She seemed to be waiting for something from him, as if she had decided she already knew what his response would be and was just counting down the seconds until he proved her right.

Spock watched her in silence for several moments, trying to decide what on earth he should say. It wasn't the answer he had expected and he had infuriated her with his insistence on knowing the truth. He could understand why. It was not the sort of revelation even a Human was comfortable with making. He could sense that the driving emotion behind her rage was humiliation and reflected briefly that he must have become better than he realised at reading Human emotions over the past few years. There had been a time when he would not have understood her anger, let alone realised it had been ignited by an entirely different emotion.

Or maybe, he considered, he was not attuned to reading Humans in general, just a few specific individuals, of which she had, over time, become one.

She was not, however, quite as good at interpreting his mind as he had told Doctor McCoy and his lips twitched at the realisation. "Then despite your earlier claims of having resolved your time on Platonius through logic, you clearly _do_ still resent me for what happened there," he stated calmly.

Chapel stared at him. "What?" He seemed to have derailed her train of thought completely.

Slowly, to avoid dizziness and fatigue, he leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. "This theory of yours is not logical. You are blaming it entirely on me and what I am looking for in a mate. Alexander made it clear to Doctor McCoy that the appearance of the women came entirely from _their_ minds. Your appearance, Miss Chapel, is not evidence that I would appreciate a blonde Vulcan but that you _think_ I would." Despite the situation, he could feel a tiny spark of amusement stubbornly igniting over this entire situation. "I am familiar with the title of the film you recalled. It is something my mother has mentioned enjoying in her youth. I also recall her mentioning the sequel ... '_Gentlemen Marry Brunettes_', I believe was the title?"

Some of her anger had died due to sheer surprise. She was astonished that he, a Vulcan, even knew these centuries-old movies existed. "You didn't marry one," the moment she said it, the last of her anger died away. It was entirely possible that she had taken this one step too far as she noticed the hard glint that appeared in his eyes at the reference to T'Pring. Then the edge left his eyes and his lips pursed into a thin line.

"You appear to believe I rejected her. The reverse is true."

She paused, then her eyes widened slowly. Of course, she hadn't known the detail of that occasion. Very few people had. All anyone outside of the smallest inner circle had known was that Spock had beamed down to a wife on Vulcan, returned to the ship divorced and that Captain Kirk had very nearly died in some mysterious fashion. Although she knew from McCoy's confidence that the _pon farr_ had driven Spock to nearly kill Kirk, that was the only thing she had been told - just enough to be medically relevant and very little else.

"And prior to Platonius there was only one blonde woman, one I had known for many more years than I had known you. Hardly enough of a trend on which to base a scientific theory," the Vulcan gave her a long stare, that tiny spark of amusement once more in evidence but also a hint of exasperation. "Perhaps your theory needs some work, Miss Chapel?" His eyes narrowed slightly as a sudden thought crossed his mind. "Unless what Parmen _really_ took from your mind was your belief that had she been Vulcan, I would not have rejected Doctor Kalomi? Perhaps that is the more accurate theory?"

The breath escaped Chapel's lungs in a small explosive puff. This was the very reason she had not wanted to discuss Platonius. There were far too many personal thoughts, thoughts that should not have been discussed. Thoughts that had nothing to do with professionalism and duty, things that were not meant to be voiced. All of which were now being thrown out in the air. How was this supposed to make things right between them? The more baggage that was aired, the less likely they'd rebuild a working relationship ever again. "It doesn't really matter at the end of the day, does it, Mr Spock?" she tried to back-pedal out of the discussion as inoffensively as possible, to try and close down the subject for good. Too much had been said already. "It happened, it's in the past."

"_Kaiidth_?" The Vulcan resisted his amusement. "But it is not, is it? You avoid me. And ... I was so disturbed by this avoidance that the first time you were unable to escape me, I held onto your mind for three days without even knowing I was doing so - endangering your health, depriving Sickbay of its Head Nurse and aggravating the already volatile Doctor McCoy. And now ... you are avoiding me again."

"I ... I don't quite see the connection," the nurse managed at last. There was a puzzled frown on her face, as if she was trying to work out how on earth the events that had occurred after the Romulan battle were in anyway linked to Platonius.

Spock was quiet for several moments, studying the far end of the room, the door, in silence. _I should have ensured the door was locked_, he realised suddenly. But on straining his hearing, he could not detect anyone in the adjoining room. At last he returned his gaze to the nurse. "You have not moved on from what Parmen did to you," he said firmly. "You have tried to answer why this was done to you logically but your speculation has not been logical. I will offer you an alternative explanation. Assess its validity before you respond."

He arched an eyebrow as if awaiting her agreement. She swallowed, then nodded cautiously in response. He leaned forward slightly. "Vulcans do not tolerate suffering in others, or being done to others. Parmen knew this. As the debriefing revealed, Parmen made sure he chose women the Captain and I were close to. Parmen saw in your mind the conflicts you obviously have about what I would consider an ideal mate-choice. I suspect, ultimately, your significant concern was that a Human could never measure up to a Vulcan's standards, and he realised that. Is that true?"

She flushed and looked away.

"Miss Chapel, is that true?"

There was another flash of anger in her eyes as she returned her gaze to his. "Not quite, Mr Spock," she snapped. "I think there's a difference between _your_ demands and your society's demands. After all, your father - a full-blooded Vulcan - took a Human mate. Clearly, Human mates _are_ acceptable in Vulcan society. But I'm not so sure they are acceptable to _you_."

Spock didn't answer immediately, staring at her in silence, a hint of surprise in his eyes. She smiled grimly, knowing she had struck a nerve. Then he blinked away the emotion and carried on regardless. "That would be motivation for him to enforce a Vulcan appearance on you. Anything further in your appearance would have been as a result of other concerns, fears, or conclusions, you had drawn. Parmen gained pleasure from the torment of his victims. Your torment, Miss Chapel, was to have your thoughts and feelings about me displayed for everyone to witness - most especially, for _me_ to witness. Parmen, having learned about Vulcan ethics from my mind, knew that to breach your privacy so completely would in turn torture me."

There was a pause as he hesitated. "It backfired on the planet. I believed your Vulcan appearance was as a result of what he found in my mind," a tiny gleam appeared in his eyes but she couldn't interpret the expression. "In fact, you yourself have just given voice to some of my own thoughts that led me to that conclusion," he watched her smile bitterly at the confirmation of her accuracy. "When I meditated later, after leaving the planet, I resolved most of those issues satisfactorily and was working on the rest. Including those issues you confidently believe you understand. A misplaced confidence, I will add."

This time he watched her jump like a startled cat. She flushed in embarrassment, then looked confused. He could tell she was trying to work out exactly what he meant by that statement. But he continued regardless. He did not plan to explain.

"It was only in the briefing room, when it was made clear that you were responsible for your appearance and not me, that the full truth of what Parmen had done became known to me. My meditations have been ... less successful since. You must understand that it is not what Parmen did to us that caused my concern but what you had done to your own mind. Worse still, was that you appeared to be continuing this self-inflicted torture because as soon as the debriefing was concluded, you changed your hair colour. You were also avoiding me, even in Sickbay and in the labs. I did not confront you, I thought your privacy had been breached enough. I now believe my decision to have been erroneous. We should have discussed Platonius much sooner than this."

Chapel stared at him in silence for a while, mulling over what he was saying and compared it to what she thought he was saying. There were some very large gaps between the two conclusions, she decided. Too large. She sighed. "Meaning what, Mr Spock?" she asked at last.

"Meaning, Nurse," he said gently. "That you do not ... how do Humans put it? 'Know my taste in women' and I did not know you had thought much about this subject at all - nor the conclusions you had come to. Knowing this, Parmen chose to torment us both by revealing your thoughts. It is entirely possible that he also realised this is not a subject we have occasion to discuss and therefore, no matter whether he got what he wanted from us on the planet, his actions would reap long-term consequences regardless."

Her face froze. "You're saying he wanted the last laugh?"

"Yes, that is the term Humans use."

She stared at him for a few moments. If she trusted Spock to be telling the truth - and he was usually very honest - then his theory _was_ more sound than hers had been. She had only become confident about her own theories after hearing about Droxine and Zarabeth, two women who had come on the scene _after_ Platonius, and therefore who could not have figured into Parmen's decision-making at all. She swallowed and looked away. "Guess he succeeded then," she muttered.

"Then the question becomes, does he continue to?"

The nurse blinked at him but his gaze was calm and steady. It was, in fact, almost expectant. "Well, I ..." she stopped, hesitating. "Mr Spock," she said slowly. "I don't know how to just stop ... thinking what I do. Do you? Can you stop thinking what you do overnight?"

One eyebrow arched. "I believe the correct response is: 'one step at a time'."

Chapel blinked at him. One step at a time? On this ship? How was that even possible? "What would be the first step?"

"You stop avoiding me while I am confined to Sickbay," he said simply.

"Well, I ..." she paused. His eyebrow shot up and she almost squirmed. It wasn't going to be that easy after _this_ conversation. Still ... it was also her job, so what he was asking her to do genuinely was a small step. Do her job, just like any other day, any other patient. She could do that. She had been doing it for two years prior to Platonius, after all. Then she realised something and scowled at him. "And what's _your_ first step, Mr Spock?"

"I understand there is logic in minimising my stupidity levels to ensure an improvement in the Head Nurse's bedside manner," he replied - almost innocently.

The nurse stared at him incredulously for a moment, not quite certain she had really heard him say that. Then, for the first time since this conversation had started, she began to laugh.

Maybe it could work, she thought. Small steps, no pressure, keep looking forward - and one day, she would look behind her and notice Platonius was no longer in sight. It sounded plausible. Logical even. Small steps. Just like the fortune cookies always said.

She looked back at the First Officer and found him watching her, a faint twinkle in his dark eyes and the tiniest hint of a curve to his lips.

_Small steps, indeed, _she thought. _And maybe along the way, I'll get him to admit that Vulcans do laugh, after all._

FIN


End file.
